THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


GIFT  OF 

Clajrton  S,   Garrison 
UCR 


AN   INTRODUCTION   TO 
DRAMATIC    THEORY 


By  the  Same  Author 

WILLIAM   BLAKE   AND   HIS 
POETRY 

154  pages.     Size  62  X  \\  inches. 

With  photogravure  frontispiece. 

DRYDEN  AND  HIS  POETRY 

152  pages.     Size  6f  X  4^  inches. 
With  photogravure  frontispiece. 


AN  INTRODUCTION  TO 

DRAMATIC  THEORY 


BY 

ALLARDYCE  ISIJCOLL  M.A. 

LECTURER     IN     ENGLISH    LANGUAGE    AND    LITERATURE    IN 

KING'S    COLLEGE   UNIVERSITY   OF   LONDON 

AUTHOR   OF   "  WILLIAM    BLAKE    AND    HIS    POETRY  " 

"  DRYDEN   AND    HIS   POETRY  " 


BRENTANO'S 

FIFTH  AVENUE   iff  27TH  STREET 


NEW   YORK 

Printed  in  Great  Britain 


N  ^2. 


PREFACE 

WHILE  in  a  work  of  this  kind,  dealing  with  the 
principles  of  tragedy  and  comedy,  it  was  necessary 
to  devote  considerable  space  to  the  fundamental 
sources  of  comic  and  of  tragic  enjoyment,  it  must  be  pointed 
out  that  this  book  does  not  profess  to  present  a  new  theory 
of  laughter  or  a  psychological  analysis  of  the  pleasure  derived 
from  tragedy.  All  through  I  have  confined  myself  strictly 
to  the  theatre,  and  have  endeavoured  to  analyse  existing 
works  of  dramatic  art  rather  than  to  probe  back  from 
these  works  to  the  more  primitive  sources  of  laughter  and 
of  tears.  My  aim  has  been  to  write  an  introduction  to 
the  study  of  drama,  and  for  this  purpose  I  have  treated 
the  dramatic  productivity  of  Greece,  Rome,  France,  Italy, 
Germany,  and  England  as  one,  in  an  attempt  to  cap- 
ture those  essential  characteristics  by  which  all  are  linked 
together. 

My  apology  for  writing  this  book,  if  apology  be  needed,  is 
that  there  is  at  present  no  satisfactory  work  on  comedy  as  a 
type  of  drama,  and  that,  even  with  tragedy,  critics  have  been 
more  inclined  to  analyse  particular  branches  of  the  subject 
than  to  treat  all  as  one.  It  has  been  my  object  here  to 
show  that  there  is  something  fundamentally  in  common 
not  only  between  iEschylus  and  Shakespeare,  but  between 
Shakespeare  and  Ibsen ;  that  the  finest  productions  of 
modern,  Elizabethan,  and  classical  dramatic  art  are  bound 
together  by  ties  which,  although  less  visible,  count  for  far 
more  than  the  apparent  differences  in  style,  in  spirit,  and 
in  construction. 

5 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Since  the  writing  of  this  book  two  important  studies 
related  to  my  subject  have  been  pubHshed,  Dr  J.  S.  Smart's 
essay  on  Tragedy  (EngHsh  Association  Studies,  vol.  viii) 
and  Mr  J.  Y.  T.  Greig's  The  Psychology  of  Laughter  and 
Comedy.  Both  of  these  present  a  penetrating  analysis  and 
criticism  of  theories  of  dramatic  art ;  and  I  am  glad  to 
be  able  to  refer  to  them  here,  and  occasionally  in  footnotes 
in  the  body  of  this  volume,  the  more  so  because  I  find  my- 
self almost  completely  in  accord  with  many  of  Dr  Smart's 
views  and  because  I  have  felt  the  clarity  of  thought  and 
the  observant  philosophy  of  Mr  Greig's  volume. 

As  the  book  is  intended  to  form  an  introduction  to  the 
study  of  dramatic  art,  I  have  appended  two  brief  biblio- 
graphies, both  designed  rather  to  suggest  some  further 
reading  on  the  part  of  students  and  amateurs  of  this  subject 
than  to  provide  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  complete  list 
of  critical  or  other  volumes. 

ALLARDYCE  NICOLL 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


I.  TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY  ii 

(i)  Introductory 

Aristotle  and  the  Greek  Drama  —  Horace  and 
the  Roman  Drama  —  Medieval  and  Neo-classic 
Criticism — Romantic  Criticism — The  Difficulties 
of  Dramatic  Theory. 

(ii)  The  Relations  of  Tragedy  and  Comedy 

The  Affinity  of  Tragedy  and  Comedy — The  Rela- 
tions between  Types  of  Tragedy  and  of  Comedy. 

(iii)  The  Fable 

Farce  and  Melodrama — Plot  and  Character. 

(iv)  Characterization  and  Inwardness 

Inwardness  in  Tragedy — Inwardness  in  Comedy. 

(v)  The  Conflict 

Outer  Conflict  in  Tragedy — Inner  Conflict  in 
Tragedy — Conflict  in  Comedy. 

(vi)  Universality 

II.  TRAGEDY  53 

(i)  Universality  in  Tragedy 

The  Importance  of  the  Hero — Introduction  ot 
the  Supernatural — The  Sense  of  Fate — Tragic 
Irony  —  Pathetic  Fallacy  —  The  Sub-plot  — 
Symbolism  in  the  Hero — External  Symbolism — 
Heredity. 

(ii)  The  Spirit  of  Tragedy 

Pity  and  Terror — Tragic  Relief:  («)  Heroic 
Grandeur  ;  (/>)  The  Feeling  of  Nobility  ;  (c)  The 
Sense  of  Universality  ;  (i/)  Poetical  Effect  ; 
{e)  Malicious  Pleasure. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

PACK 

(iii)  Style 

The  Lyrical  Element  in  Trafjedy  —  Blank  Verse 
and  Rime — ]?lank  Verse  and  Prose — The  Univer- 
sality of  Rhythm — Verse  as  a  Tragic  Relief. 

(iv)  The  Tragic  Hero 

The  Importance  of  the  Hero — The  Tragic  Flaw 

—  Unconscious  Error  —  Conscious  Error  — 
Thoughtless  Folly  —  Impotence  and  Ambition 
of  the  Hero — The  Flawless  Hero — The  Hero 
swayed  by  Two  Ideals — The  Flaw  arising  from 
Circumstances — The  Position  of  the  Hero  in  the 
Play — The  Twin  Hero — The  Heroless  Tragedy 
— The  Heroine. 

(v)  Types  of  Tragedy" 

Features  of  Greek  Tragedy  :  (13)  The  Chorus  ; 
{/>)  The  Unity  of  Action  ;  (r)  The  Unity  of 
Time  ;   (1/)  The  Unity  of  Place  ;    {e)  The  Stage 

—  Early  Elizabethan  Tragedy  —  Marlowe  — 
Shakespeare — Heroic  Tragedy — Horror  Tragedy 
— Domestic  Tragedy. 

III.  COMEDY  131 

(i)  Universality  in  Comedy 

The     Supernatural — Class    Symbolism — Sub-plot 

—  External  Symbolism  —  Style  and  Pathetic 
Fallacy. 

(ii)  The  Spirit  of  Comedy 

Classification  of  Drama  —  Distinction  between 
Dranie  and  Comedy  —  Satire  and  Comedy  — 
The  Social  Aspect  of  Comedy  —  The  Sources  of 
the  Comic —  Incongruity — Humour  —  Laughter 
arising  from  Physical  Attributes  —  Laughter 
arising  from  Character  —  Laughter  arising  from 
Situation  —  Laughter  arising  from  Manners — 
Laughter  arising  from  Words  —  Wit  —  Humour 
in  Comedy — Satire. 

(iii)  Types  of  Comedy 

F'arce — The  Comedy  of  Romance  (Comedy  of 
Humour) — The  Comedy  of  '  Humours '  (Comedy 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

of  Satire) — The  Comedy  of  Manners  (Comedy  of 
Wit)  —  The  Genteel  Comedy — The  Comedy  of 
Intrigue — Sentimental  Comedy. 

(iv)  Tragi-comedy 

Characteristics  of  Sentimental  Drama  —  Other 
Types  of  Tragi-comedy. 

APPENDIX  203 

I.  Brief  Bibliography  of  Dramatic  Theory 
II.  Brief  Bibliography  of  Select  Dramatic  Works 

INDEX  213 


AN   INTRODUCTION  TO 
DRAMATIC  THEORY 

I 

TRAGEDY   AND   COMEDY 

(i)  INTRODUCTORY 

DRAMATIC  theory  is  a  subject  which  has  occupied 
the  minds  of  many  of  the  most  brilhant  h'terary 
critics  and  philosophers  from  the  very  dawn  of 
theatrical  art  in  Greece  to  our  present  days.  The  drama  is 
at  once  the  most  peculiar,  the  most  elusive,  and  the  most 
enthralling  of  all  types  of  literature.  It  is  so  near  to  the 
deeper  consciousness  of  the  nation  in  which  it  takes  its 
rise ;  it  is  capable  of  appealing  so  widely  and  so  diversely 
to  peoples  of  far  distant  ages  and  of  varying  climes  ;  it  is  so 
intimately  bound  up  with  the  theatre,  the  meeting-place  of 
all  classes  of  humanity ;  it  is  so  social  in  its  aims  and  in  its 
objects;  it  is  so  prone  to  descend  to  the  uttermost  depths  of 
buffoonery  and  of  farce,  and  yet  is  so  capable  of  rising  to 
the  most  glorious  heights  of  poetic  inspiration,  that  it  stands 
undoubtedly  as  the  most  interesting  of  all  the  literary 
products  of  the  human  intelligence. 

Aristotle  and  the  Greek  Drama. — ^The  fount  of  all 
true  study  of  the  essential  elements  of  this  type  of  literature 
lies,  as  is  well  known,  in  the  Poetics  of  Aristotle.  In  the 
consideration  of  this  work,  so  brilliant  and  so  illuminating 
that  it  still  stands  as  a  recognized  analysis  of  dramatic  form, 
there  are  several  facts  which  require  careful  examination. 
Aristotle  was  born  in  the  year  384  B.C.      He  died  at  the 

II 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

age  of  sixty-two  in  322  B.C.  His  Poetics  presumably  must 
have  been  planned  and  written  about  the  year  330.  By 
that  year,  330  B.C.,  Athenian  tragedy  had  risen  to  its  fullest 
height  and  was  already  showing  violent  signs  of  that  decay 
which  appears  inevitable  in  the  growth  and  development 
of  any  species  of  literature.  ./Eschylus  (525-456  B.C.), 
apparently  taking  up  the  rudiments  of  tragedy  left  by  Arion 
(f .  600  B.C.)  and  Phrynichus  [fl.  5 1 1-47  2  B.C.),  with  a  massive 
strength  and  a  power  over  character  hitherto  undisplayed, 
laid  the  definite  foundations  of  the  Greek  drama.  In  the 
year  499  he  won  the  tragic  prize,  and  thereafter  contributed 
to  the  theatre  some  seventy  plays,  of  which  only  seven  are 
now  extant.^  His  successor  was  Sophocles  (495-406  B.C.), 
a  figure  more  typically  Greek,  more  mellowed  and  more 
harmoniously  artistic.  After  Sophocles  came  Euripides 
(480-406  B.C.),  more  humanitarian,  not  so  religious,  bring- 
ing down  tragedy  from  the  heights  that  hitherto  it  had  kept 
to  the  levels  of  ordinary  human  experience.  Beauty  was 
in  all  three,  but  after  them  this  beauty  perished.  They 
were  to  be  followed  by  none  of  their  own  type.  Aristotle, 
therefore,  writing  in  330,  had  before  him  the  very  finest 
works  of  tragic  inspiration  which  Greece  could  offer,  A 
far  different  tale  has  to  be  told  of  comedy.  Comedy  was 
evidently  of  slower  growth,  and  in  the  minds  of  the 
Athenians  was  relegated  to  an  inferior  position.  It  is  usual 
to  divide  this  comic  effort  of  Greece  into  three  divisions, 
styled  '  old,'  '  middle,'  and  '  new  '  respectively.  The  old 
comedy,  which  extended  approximately  from  470  to  390  B.C., 
saw  its  most  prominent  representative  in  Aristophanes  (born 
c.  448  B.C.).  It  was  largely  political  in  character,  and  gave 
way  to  the  social  comedy  of  the  middle  period.  The  latest 
type   of  all,  which  might  almost  be  styled  a   comedy  of 

1  For  list  of  plays  and  translations  of  ^schylus  and  of  the  other 
dramatists  see  the  bibliography  in  Appendix  II, 
12 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

manners,^  developing  most  in  the  hands  of  Menander,  did 
not  come  into  being  until  about  the  year  320  b.c.  It 
flourished  until  the  middle  of  the  third  century  B.C.,  and 
then,  like  tragedy,  disappeared. 

Aristotle,  accordingly,  was  not  fully  capable  of  appre- 
ciating the  dramatic  work  of  Greece.  The  date  at  which 
he  lived  prevented  him  from  realizing  completely  the  worth 
and  the  possibilities  of  the  comic  spirit  of  his  land.  As  a 
consequence,  the  Poetics  deals  most  largely  with  tragedy 
and  with  the  epic — the  two  types  of  literature  which  Greece 
had  in  his  time  developed  finely — and  hardly  at  all  with 
comedy.  It  is  obvious,  therefore,  that  Aristotle's  declara- 
tions regarding  the  nature  of  drama,  even  when  confined 
and  applied  to  the  literature  of  his  country,  can  never  be 
looked  upon  as  all-embracing  and  final. 

It  is  also  obvious  that,  regarded  from  a  still  broader  stand- 
point, his  judgments  must  often  have  a  purely  topical  value. 
All  through  the  ages  till  the  late  eighteenth  century  his 
statements  were  accepted  as  final  and  definite.  Aristotle, 
it  was  believed,  had  laid  down  laws  which  were  of  universal 
application.  The  topical  and  temporary  nature  of  his 
declarations  was  rarely,  if  ever,  perceived.  In  practice, 
of  course,  men  like  Shakespeare  utterly  disregarded  both 
his  work  and  the  works  of  his  successors  in  criticism,  but 
it  was  not  till  Dryden's  time  that  a  critic  in  theory  could  be 
found  bold  enough  to  suggest  that  perhaps  Aristotle  would 
have  modified  his  views  had  he  known  of  the  modern  develop- 
ments in  the  art  of  drama ;  and  even  long  after  Dryden's 
time  this  suggestion,  important  as  it  appears  to  us  to-day, 
was  completely  neglected. 

In  reading  the  Poetics,  then,  we  must  always  remember 
that  the  author  of  that  work  lived  in  the  fourth  century  B.C., 

^  On  the  significance  of  this  and  other  technical  and  semi-technical 
literary  terms,  see  Section  III  of  this  book. 

13 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

that  he  could  have  had  no  idea  of  the  glories  of  later  romantic 
drama,  and  that  even  in  the  sphere  of  Athenian  theatrical 
productivity  he  knew  nothing  of  the  later  comedy  of 
Menander.  A  still  further  warning  must  be  given.  The 
Poetics,  Ash  has  come  down  to  us,  is  not  a  book  of  criticism, 
as  is,  let  us  say,  the  work  of  Arnold  or  of  Meredith.  Not 
only  are  there  serious  difficulties  in  the  text  itself,  due 
possibly  to  corruption,  but  whole  passages  have  been  con- 
demned as  spurious.  The  possibility  is  that  what  we  know 
as  the  Poetics  is  only  part  of  a  very  much  greater  whole, 
possibly  merely  lecture  notes  of  some  pupil  who  had  listened 
to  the  master  in  the  TreptVarot,  "  the  shady  walks,"  of  the 
Lyceum.  Remembering  this,  we  may  be  able  to  explain 
to  ourselves  why  such  large  parts  of  this  work  deal  with 
apparently  trivial  details.  These  details — of  technique,  of 
scenery,  and  of  plot — might  well  fit  into  a  large  volume;  in 
the  work  as  we  have  it  they  loom  up  disproportionately  large. 
Horace  and  the  Roman  Drama. — After  Aristotle 
there  is  a  long  period  of  silence  in  dramatic  criticism  ;  and 
when  it  did  arise  once  more  it  was  destined,  for  centuries 
upon  centuries,  to  remain  based  upon  his  judgments.  In 
Horace  (65-8  b.c.)  we  see  the  beginnings  of  what  may  be 
styled  neo-classic  literary  theory.  Aristotle's  method  had 
been  largely  analytic.  He  took  play  after  play,  dissected 
each,  and  finally  gave  his  opinion  as  to  the  main  charac- 
teristics of  all.  He  laid  down  the  law,  it  is  true,  but 
not  in  an  aggressively  didactic  manner,  and  only  after 
careful  personal  investigation  into  particular  dramatic  works. 
Horace's  method  is  far  different.  His  statements  are 
utterly  dogmatic,  and,  we  feel,  not  often  duly  considered  in 
the  light  of  fact.  In  The  Epistle  to  the  Pisos  we  find  his 
ideas  in  their  most  succinct  form.  The  types  of  poetry 
there  have  been  definitely  settled  ;  a  special  metre,  it  is 
determined,  is  appropriate  to  each.      Characters  in  dramas 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

and  in  poems  alike  must  be  types.  There  must  not  be 
brought  "  on  to  the  stage  what  ought  to  be  done  behind  the 
scenes  " ;  a  play  must  not  "  be  longer  or  shorter  than  five 
acts"  ;  only  three  speaking  persons  must  be  on  the  stage 
at  one  time  ;  above  all,  "  Let  the  Greek  patterns  be  never 
out  of  our  hands  by  night  or  day." 

Everything  is  cut  and  dried ;  there  is  little  scope  for  any 
originality  save  the  originality  of  new  wording.  Possibly 
because  of  this,  Rome  did  not  see  so  great  a  drama  as 
did  Greece.  Of  the  Roman  drama,  however,  it  is  exceed- 
ingly difficult  to  judge.  Out  of  the  entire  works  of  the 
trio  of  once  famous  playwrights,  Ennius  (239-169  B.C.), 
Pacuvius  (220-130  B.C.),  and  Accius  (170-86  b.c),  only 
a  few  fragments  have  come  down  to  us,  Seneca's  ten 
tragedies  alone  surviving  the  shipwreck  of  Latin  serious 
drama.  Plautus((3'.  184  b.c.)  and  Terence  (r.  185-159  b.c), 
certainly,  wrote  then  their  comedies,  but  comedy  was 
considered  by  the  critics,  again  possibly  following  Aristotle's 
lead,  as  a  lower  species  of  literary  composition. 

Medieval  AND  Neo-classic  Criticism. — In  the  Middle 
Ages  the  old  drama  practically  vanished.  It  was  present, 
no  doubt,  on  the  Continent  as  here  in  debased  forms,  but 
even  record  of  it  is  very  scanty.  At  this  period,  on 
the  other  hand,  a  new  drama,  arising  not  out  of  pagan 
ceremonial  but  out  of  the  services  of  the  Church,  was 
born.  Gradually,  step  by  step,  from  mere  two-  or  three- 
line  tropes  1  it  grew,  until  in  the  fourteenth  century  it 
appeared  in  the  form  of  the  vast  cycles  of  the  mystery  plays. 
This  drama,  however,  was  purely  of  the  people  ;  it  was 
unliterary,  and  with  it  went  no  new  criticism.  By  the 
fourteenth  century  in  Italy  the  Renascence,  the  rebirth   of 

1  Tropes  were  the  additions  made  to  the  regular  services  of  the 
Church,  leading  on  the  one  hand  to  the  development  of  hymns, 
and  on  the  other  to  the  rise  of  primitive  dramatic  form. 

15 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

enthusiasm  for  things  classical,  was  well  on  its  way,  and 
once  more  dramatic  theory  revived,  but  it  was  dramatic 
theory  divorced  from  the  typically  medieval  drama,  being 
based  almost  entirely  on  Horace.  "  Follow  the  ancients," 
was  the  general  cry ;  "  Don't  try  novelty  "  ;  "  Keep  to 
your  five  acts";  "Imitate  Seneca";  above  all,  "Keep  to 
the  unities."  These  rules  of  the  neo-classicists,  to  be  dis- 
cussed in  greater  detail  hereafter,  were  to  be  the  skeletons 
in  the  cupboards  of  dramatic  critics  and  of  dramatists  for 
centuries  to  come.  The  dead  bones  of  Horace  dominated 
and  made  timorous  even  the  contemporaries  of  Shakespeare. 
Charming  as  Sidney's  Apologie  for  Poetrie  is,  it  is  wholly 
under  the  sway  of  this  artificial  theory.  Sidney  condemns 
tragi-comedy,  which  was  to  be  one  of  the  glories  of  Eliza- 
bethan drama ;  he  condemns  all  those  writers  who,  like 
Shakespeare,  indulged  in  romantic  excess.  He  speaks  of 
"  our  Tragedies,  and  Comedies  (not  without  cause  cried 
out  against,)  observing  rules,  neyther  of  honest  civilitie,  nor 
of  skilfull  Poetrie,  excepting  Gorboduck  " — Gorhoduc^  one 
of  the  dullest  and  the  most  monotonous  of  mid-sixteenth- 
ccntury  dramatic  productions.  After  Sidney  came  Jonson, 
who  tried  to  put  into  practice  what  both  he  and  Sidney 
preached  in  theory.  Jonson's  criticism  is  fragmentary, 
being  contained  mainly  in  his  little  volume  called  Discoveries, 
but  his  neo-classic  tendencies  can  be  seen  clearly  in  his 
two  tragedies,  Sejanus  and  Catiline,  obviously  written  in 
direct  opposition  to  the  romantic  plays  of  Shakespeare. 
So  followed  many  another  critic  and  dramatist.  In  the  late 
seventeenth  century  came  Rymer,  arch-priest  of  neo- 
classicism.  In  The  Tragedies  of  the  Last  Age  Considered 
(1678)  and  A  Short  yiew  of  Tragedy  (1692-93)  he  shows 
us  this  particular  type  of  criticism  carried  to  a  reductio 
ad  ahsurdum.  lago  for  Rymer  is  impossible.  Why  ? 
Because  it  is  a  recognized  fact  that  all  soldiers  are  honest, 
16 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

and  because  it  is  also  recognized  that  all  human  beings 
should  show  gratitude  to  those  who  are  good  to  them.  This 
is  simply  Horace's  doctrine  of  types,  suggested  by  the  art 
of  Greece,  run  to  excess. 

Dryden,  as  we  have  seen,  broke  away.  His  famous 
Essay  of  Dramatick  Poesie,  published  in  1668,  presents  in 
dialogue  form  the  struggle  between  those  neo-classicists 
who  looked  to  France  for  inspiration  and  those  freer 
critics  who  could  appreciate  Shakespeare.  The  Essay  of 
Dramatick  Poesie  is  a  work  which,  like  Aristotle's  Poetics, 
should  be  read  by  all  who  would  study  not  only  the  develop- 
ment of  literary  criticism,  but  the  essentials  of  the  art  of  the 
drama.  Dryden's  critical  remarks  are,  it  is  true,  not  con- 
fined to  this  work.  One  of  his  most  penetrating  statements, 
indeed,  appears  only  as  a  manuscript  note  in  a  copy  of 
Rymer's  work.  "  It  is  not  enough,"  he  says  there,  "  that 
Aristotle  has  said  so,  for  Aristotle  drew  his  models  of 
tragedy  from  Sophocles  and  Euripides :  and,  if  he  had  seen 
ours,  might  have  changed  his  mind."  ^  On  the  other  hand, 
the  Essay  of  Dramatick  Poesie  contains  the  brief  abstract 
of  all  that  Dryden  held  most  sure  in  regard  to  the  theory 
of  drama. 

Dryden's  majestic  independence,  however,  was  not  to  be 
followed  up  for  many  years.  Addison  was  an  enlightened, 
but  not  a  great,  critic.  His  judgments  are  essentially 
'  safe  '  from  the  Augustan  point  of  view.  All  through  the 
eighteenth  century  the  rules  of  the  neo-classic  creed  were 
followed  by  writer  after  writer,  inconsistencies  arising 
because,  although  Shakespeare  had  broken  every  one  of 
those  rules,  every  critic  nevertheless  felt  him  to  be  a  great 
writer.  It  did  not  dawn  upon  anyone  in  that  age,  except 
Dr  Johnson,  and  in  his  case  but  dimly,  that  Shakespeare, 

^  On  these  manuscript  notes  see  the  Scott-Saintsbury  Dryden, 
'^v,  379  ;  and  Saintsbury's  Loci  Critici,  pp.  157-8. 

B  17 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

because  he  broke  rules,  might  be  pointing  out  a  newer 
and  truer  way  for  Hterature. 

Romantic  Criticism. — In  Johnson's  time,  although  he 
himself  was  the  last  great  exponent  of  the  neo-classic  ideals, 
signs  of  a  change  were  visible.  Already  the  precursors 
of  romanticism,  in  theory  and  in  practice,  had  come  into 
being.  Gray  was  writing  his  Odes,  Collins  was  indulging 
in  reveries  on  the  theme  of  Gaelic  romance ;  Chatterton, 
A'Irs  Radcliffe,  and  a  host  of  others,  geniuses  and  charlatans, 
were  tentatively  feeling  their  way  toward  a  new  poetry 
and  a  new  prose.  Corresponding  to  this  fresh  creative 
movement  came  the  rise  of  romantic  criticism.  Hurd,  the 
Wartons,  and  others  were  striving  to  display  to  men  the 
beauties  of  the  long-despised  Middle  Ages.  The  drama, 
however,  lay  somewhat  apart.  In  the  late  eighteenth 
century  the  theatres  were  not  in  a  flourishing  condition. 
Sentimentalism  ruled  comedy ;  the  tragic  dramatists  could 
not  free  themselves  from  the  rigid  fetters  of  classicism,  and 
when  they  did  so  in  the  nineteenth  century  they  swept  into 
the  inanities  of  ultra-romantic  melodrama.  Managers  of 
the  theatres  found  that  '  show '  was  more  paying  than 
regular  plays ;  the  spectators  were  eager  to  welcome  all 
kinds  of  spectacles.  Accordingly,  we  find  that  for  years, 
even  in  the  very  midst  of  the  full  romantic  movement, 
drama  was  largely  neglected  by  critics  and  by  poets  alike. 
Many  of  the  poetic  dramas  of  the  early  nineteenth  century 
were  'closet'  dramas,  like  Byron's  Werner,  neither  intended, 
"  nor  in  any  shape  adapted,  for  the  stage."  Renewed 
study  of  Shakespeare,  however,  and  of  Shakespeare's  con- 
temporaries, along  with  a  renewed  appreciation  of  the  true 
glories  of  Greek  literature,  gave  rise  to  a  reconsideration 
of  the  great  masterpieces  of  the  past.  Coleridge  led  the 
way,  developing  an  entirely  new  type  of  critical  analysis  in 
his  lectures  and  in  his  l>Jotes  on  Shakespeare.  Hazlitt  at 
i8 


TRAGEDY  AND   COMEDY 

the  same  time  strove  to  investigate  the  manifestations  of 
the  comic  spirit  as  expressed  by  Shakespeare,  the  Restora- 
tion dramatists,  and  the  novel-writers  of  the  eighteenth 
century.  It  is  this  type  of  criticism  which,  with  modifica- 
tions, has  endured  to  the  present  day.  Its  achievements 
were  remarkable,  but  it  possessed  one  or  two  characteristics 
in  the  early  period  of  its  development  which  prevented  it 
from  reaching  a  final  conclusion.  In  the  first  place,  it  was 
largely  subjective,  dependent  upon  the  tastes  and  upon  the 
caprices  of  the  several  critics.  Because  of  this,  it  neglected 
to  a  great  extent  a  detailed  investigation  into  the  circumstances 
which  surrounded  the  great  works  of  dramatic  art  produced 
during  the  different  periods  of  theatrical  history.  These 
circumstances,  often  of  prime  importance  for  an  under- 
standing of  particular  dramas,  have  been  fully  appreciated 
only  in  recent  times. 

The  criticism  of  modern  days  has  been  exceedingly 
diverse,  and  has  often  penetrated  farther  than  any  of  the 
preceding  literary  theory.  New  knowledge  of  psychology 
has  aided  men  in  obtaining  a  more  catholic  view  of  literature, 
and  detailed  research  has  opened  up  fields  of  study  which 
before  were  entirely  unknown.  As  the  majority  of  the 
most  important  of  the  works  devoted  to  the  subject  of  drama 
are  referred  to  not  only  in  the  text  of  the  later  chapters  of 
this  book,  but  also  in  the  bibliographical  appendix,  there  is 
no  necessity  to  enumerate  them  here.  All  that  may  be  done 
at  this  point  is  to  indicate  what  appears  to  be  a  weakness 
in  most  of  these  critical  volumes.  This  weakness  lies  in 
the  want  of  a  more  comprehensive  view  of  the  whole  of 
dramatic  art.  On  the  diverse  manifestations  of  the  theatre, 
from  high  tragedy  and  fine  comedy  on  the  one  hand  to  the 
most  pitiful  of  melodrama  and  farce  on  the  other,  even 
on  that  distant  cousin  of  Thalia  and  Melpomene,  the  mario- 
nette  and   the  puppet   show,  have  been  written  volumes 

19 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

innumerable.  Brilliant  studies  have  been  made  of  iEschylus 
and  Seneca,  of  Shakespeare  and  Moliere,  but  only  too  often 
the  difficulties  inherent  in  this  subject  have  prevented  a 
true  analysis  of  the  qualities  shared  alike  by  Shakespeare 
and  iEschylus,  by  Moliere  and  Aristophanes, 

The  Difficulties  of  Dramatic  Theory. — These  diffi- 
culties, as  must  have  been  evident  even  from  the  brief 
account  of  the  historical  development  of  dramatic  theory 
given  above,  are  truly  enormous.  The  drama  is  not  a  part 
of  literature  alone.  It  is  always  dependent  on  the  theatre. 
In  considering  any  piece  of  dramatic  art  not  only  must  a 
picture  of  the  particular  theatre  in  which  it  was  first  pro- 
duced and  for  which  it  was  originally  written  be  continually 
present  in  our  minds,  but  we  must  even  attempt  to  visualize 
in  some  vague  manner  the  actors  who  played  the  parts. 
In  studying  Hamlet  we  must  place  ourselves  in  imagination 
in  the  Globe  playhouse  and  create  for  ourselves  an  image 
of  the  Elizabethan  actor  Burbage.  In  studying  Venice 
Preserved  we  must  enter  Wren's  Theatre  Royal  in  Drury 
Lane  and  witness  there  the  actress  for  whom  Otway  un- 
doubtedly created  his  chief  female  part,  the  incomparable 
Mrs  Barry.  Apart  from  this,  too,  the  audience  must  be 
remembered.  The  drama  stands  away  from  pure  poetry  in 
that  it  is  primarily  an  art-form  that  makes  its  appeal  to  a 
precise  and  often  limited  body  of  spectators.  A  poet  like 
Blake  may,  in  seclusion,  produce  his  prophetic  rhapsodies 
independently  of  his  public  ;  he  may  write  more  for  the 
readers  yet  unborn  than  for  the  readers  of  his  time ;  but 
the  dramatist  must  always  bear  in  mind  the  audience  before 
whom  he  is  to  present  his  work.  This  dependence  of  the 
dramatist  on  the  public  necessarily  leads  toward  the  con- 
fusion of  diverse  forces.  The  temporary  and  the  topical 
will  mingle  in  his  work  with  the  permanent  and  the  eternal. 
Hamlet  will  give  his  advice  to  the  players  and  rail  at  the 
20 


TRAGEDY  AND  COAIEDY 

child-actors  at  the  very  time  that  he  is  engaged  in  a  soul- 
struggle  which  proves  his  kinship  with  the  tragic  heroes 
of  past  ages  and  of  the  future.  The  dependence  of  the 
dramatist  on  the  theatre,  on  the  actors,  and  on  the  audience, 
we  may  place  as  the  first  difficulty  in  any  endeavour  to 
analyse  the  qualities  common  to  all  the  great  dramatists  of 
the  world. 

The  theatre  also  is  partly  responsible  for  the  second 
great  difficulty — the  sharp  line  of  demarcation  between  the 
classic  and  the  romantic  dramas.  These  are  the  two  main 
divisions  of  tragic  effort  dealt  with  by  Professor  Vaughan  in 
his  admirable  work  on  Types  of  Tragic  Drama ;  and  un- 
doubtedly the  plays  of  ancient  Greece,  with  their  descendants, 
the  plays  of  Racine,  Voltaire,  and  Alfieri,  present  to  our 
view  qualities  entirely  alien  to  the  characteristics  of  the 
Elizabethan,  Spanish,  and  German  dramas.  Sometimes,  it 
must  be  felt,  there  is  nothing  in  common  between  Shake- 
speare and  Sophocles,  so  startlingly  different  are  the  technique 
and  the  expression  of  those  two  dramatists.  The  very  con- 
ception of  the  tragic  spirit  differs  so  entirely  in  these  two  men 
that  almost  nothing  might  appear  to  unite  them  save  the 
mere  fact  that  both  wrote  in  dialogue  works  to  be  presented 
before  an  audience.  This  difficulty,  one  of  paramount 
importance,  we  shall  consider  in  greater  detail  later. 

Not  only,  however,  is  there  this  line  of  demarcation 
between  the  typical  drama  of  Greece,  France,  and  Italy  and 
the  drama  of  England,  Spain,  and  Germany ;  there  is  also 
a  striking  variety  of  types,  both  of  tragedy  and  of  comedy, 
within  the  bounds  of  the  dramatic  productivity  of  any  one 
nation.  England  may  be  taken  as  an  example.  What,  we 
may  well  ask  ourselves,  is  there  truly  in  common  between 
Arden  of  Fever  sham  or  Moore's  Gamester  and  the  romantic 
tragi-comedies  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  .?  How  can 
Shakespeare's  dramas  share  in  any  way  the  spirit  of  Dryden's 

21 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Conquest  of  Granada  ?  What  relation  is  there  between 
Steele's  Conscious  Lovers  and  ^  Midsummer  Night^s  Dream  ? 
Or  between  Jonson's  Volpone  and  Congreve's  The  Way  of 
the  World  ?  It  would  almost  appear  as  if  the  only  method 
of  treating  these  types  would  be  to  consider  them  either 
purely  from  the  historical  point  of  view  or  else  purely  from 
the  point  of  view  of  each  apparently  independent  species. 
It  is  this  difficulty  of  discerning  the  qualities  common  to  the 
various  types  that  has  led  to  so  many  '  Chronologies  '  of 
English  drama  and  to  the  numerous  specialized  works  on 
the  separate  divisions  of  tragedy  and  of  comedy. 

Finally,  there  is  a  difficulty  which  lies  apart  from  those 
noted  above — the  fact  that  drama  more  than  poetry  requires 
a  psychological  analysis.  A  study  of  the  characteristics 
common  to  iEschylus  and  Shakespeare,  to  Terence  and 
Moliere,  will  take  us  deep  to  the  roots  of  the  human  emo- 
tions. The  play-acting  spirit  is  one  that  rises  out  of  the 
most  primitive  forms  of  human  society.  The  question  of 
what  constitutes  our  pleasure  in  witnessing  a  tragedy  demands 
a  knowledge  of  half-savage  emotions,  while  the  study  of 
the  sources  of  the  comic  leads  us  toward  an  investigation 
into  the  causes  that  produce  laughter  of  the  crudest  and 
most  elemental  form.  It  may  appear  strange  to  connect 
a  savage  dancing,  intoxicated  with  his  own  emotion,  over 
the  palpitating  body  of  a  newly  slain  foe,  with  a  bon  mot 
of  Mirabel ;  but  the  connexion  between  the  two  is  readily 
demonstrable,  and  perhaps  we  may  not  be  able  to  diagnose 
aright  the  spirit  of  that  hon  mot  before  we  have  analysed 
the  crude  emotions  of  the  savage.^ 

Other  difficulties,  obviously,  there  are  in  any  considera- 
tion of  an  art-type  such  as  this  ;  but  they  are  difficulties 
surmountable.     We  shall  not,  however,  be  able  to  proceed 

^  On  the  manifestations  of  laughter  in  primitive  races  sec  J.  Sully, 
An  Essay  on  Laughter. 
22 


TRAGEDY  AND   COMEDY 

far  if  we  do  not  always  bear  in  mind  at  least  these  chief 
problems  that  lie  in  our  path.  There  must  be  no  attempt 
to  slur  them  over.  A  result  will  be  attained  not  by  over- 
looking the  difficulties,  but  by  appreciating  to  the  full  their 
importance  and  by  passing  beyond  their  boundaries.  It  is 
not  by  ignoring  the  presence  of  the  audience  in  Greece, 
in  Elizabethan  England,  or  in  the  England  of  the  Restora- 
tion that  we  shall  be  able  in  some  way  or  another  to  connect 
the  CEdipus  Tyrannm  of  Sophocles,  the  Hamlet  of  Shake- 
speare and  the  Aureng-Tjcbe  of  Dryden,  but  by  an  appre- 
ciation of  the  fundamentally  differing  characteristics  of 
those  three  audiences,  and  by  a  consequent  discounting  of 
the  purely  local  and  temporary  elements  called  forth  in  the 
respective  dramas  by  those  three  separate  bodies  of  spectators. 


(ii)  THE  RELATIONS  OF  TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

The  Affinity  of  Tragedy  and  Comedy. — At  the 
beginning  of  an  investigation  such  as  this  it  must  be 
noted  that  tragedy  and  comedy  are  not  dissimilar,  and  not 
so  fundamentally  opposed  to  one  another  that  they  can  be 
treated  only  in  isolation.  There  is,  in  point  of  fact,  more  in 
common  between  high  tragedy  and  fine  comedy  than  there 
is  between  certain  types  of  tragedy  or  between  certain  types 
of  comedy.  In  Greece  and  in  England  alike,  tragedy  and 
comedy  both  took  their  rise  not  only  at  approximately  the 
same  time,  but  out  of  the  same  forms.  In  Greece  the  choral 
song  chanted  round  the  altar  of  the  god  developed  along  the 
twin  lines  of  tragic  and  of  comic  or  satirical  expression. 
The  services  of  the  Church,  out  of  which  sprang  the  col- 
lective mysteries  of  the  Middle  Ages,  gave  rise  both  to  the 
tragic  themes  of  Abraham  and  Isaac  and  to  the  comic  inter- 
ludes of  Mak  and  the  shepherds.  Plato,  treating  the  subject 
in  a  more  or  less  abstract  manner,  discerned  in  his  Philebus 

23 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

both  pleasurable  and  painful  elements  in  all  laughter ;  and 
modern  investigators  have  shown  clearly  how  closely  allied 
are  the  two  moods  or  Les  Passions  de  PAme,  to  employ  the 
title  of  that  book  of  Descartes  wherein  the  relations  between 
sadness  and  laughter  are  subtly  discussed.  In  the  flourish- 
ing period  of  Greek  tragedy  comedy  was  allowed  to  enter 
in,  perhaps  not  so  freely  as  in  Shakespeare,  but  at  any  rate 
consciously  and  of  set  purpose.^  Many  are  the  individual 
writers  who  have  excelled  in  the  two  great  branches  of 
drama.  In  England  Shakespeare  wrote  his  As  You  Like  ltz.% 
well  as  Hamlet,  Jonson  his  Every  Man  in  his  Humour  ^s  well 
as  Sejanus  and  Catiline.  Again,  the  same  nations  have  pro- 
duced both  species  contemporaneously.  In  France  Racine 
framed  his  brilliant  neo-classic  tragedies  while  Moliere  was 
penning  and  acting  his  sparkling  comedies.  In  Italy  Goldoni 
flourished,  if  not  contemporaneously  with,  at  least  in  the 
same  age  as,  the  finest  tragic  dramatist  of  that  land,  Vittorio 
Alfieri. 

The  fact  is  that  tears  and  laughter  lie  in  close  proximity. 
It  is  but  a  step  from  the  one  to  the  other.  "  The  motor 
centres  engaged,"  remarks  Sully,  "  when  in  the  full  swing 
of  one  mode  of  action,  may  readily  pass  to  the  other  and 
partially  similar  action."  ^  We  feel  nothing  incongruous 
in  practice  in  laughing  at  the  jests  of  Mercutio  and  at  the 
same  time  witnessing  the  tragic  story  of  "Juliet  and  her 
Romeo,"  just  as  we  feel  nothing  incongruous  when  in  a 
novel  of  Dickens  we  pass  from  hilarious  laughter  to  the  most 
tearful  forms  of  the  pathetic.  In  all  essentially  creative  ages 
the  two  have  been  freely  used  together  in  every  kind  of 
literary  art.  The  Greek  dramatists,  as  we  have  seen,  did  not 
confine  them  to  watertight  compartments  :  the  Elizabethans 

1  Thus,  iEschylus  permitted  the  Herald  to  enter  into  his  Suppliccs 
and  the  Nurse  into  his  Chnephoroe,  while  the  Antigone  of  Sophocles 
has  its  Watchman  and  the  Orestes  of  Euripides  its  Phrygian  Slave. 

*  J.  Sully,  An  Essay  on  Laughter  (1902),  p.  70. 
24 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

freely  mingled  them.  The  doctrine  that  the  two  are 
fundamentally  opposed  is  largely  the  development  of  later 
criticism — not  so  much  of  '  free  '  criticism,  as  exemplified 
in  Aristotle  and  in  the  romantics,  as  of  '  derivative  '  and 
'  artificial '  criticism,  as  exemplified  in  Horace  and  the  neo- 
classic  writers  of  France  and  of  eighteenth-century  England. 
It  is  noticeable  that  wherever  a  critic  of  the  neo-classic 
school  breaks  away  into  a  more  independent  or  natural 
position  there  vanishes  from  him  the  necessity  for  any  strict 
division  between  the  two  moods  or  species.  Dryden  stands 
in  such  a  position  :  the  leader  of  the  rising  school  of  restraint 
and  of  intellectualism,  he  yet  preserv^es  an  independence 
which  owes  something  to  his  ties  of  kinship  with  the  authors 
of  the  early  seventeenth  century.  He  says,  in  the  person 
of  Neander :  ^ 

A  continued  Gravity  keeps  the  Spirit  too  much  bent ;  we  must 
refresh  it  sometimes,  as  we  bait  in  a  Journey,  that  we  may  go  on 
with  greater  ease.  A  Scene  of  Mirth  mix'd  with  Tragedy,  has  the 
same  effect  upon  us  which  our  Musick  has  betwixt  the  Acts,  which 
we  find  a  Relief  to  us  from  the  best  Plots  and  Language  of  the 
Stage,  if  the  Discourses  have  been  long.  I  must  therefore  have 
stronger  Arguments  ere  I  am  convinc'd,  that  Compassion  and  Mirth 
in  the  same  Subject  destroy  each  other,  and  in  the  mean  time, 
cannot  but  conclude,  to  the  Honour  of  our  Nation,  that  we  have 
invented,  increas'd,  and  perfected  a  more  pleasant  way  of  writing 
for  the  Stage,  than  was  ever  known  to  the  Ancients  or  Moderns  of 
any  Nation,  which  is  Tragi-Comedy. 

And  this  leads  me  to  wonder  why  Lisideius  and  many  others 
should  cry  up  the  Barrenness  of  the  French  Plots,  above  the  Variety 
and  Copiousness  of  the  English.  Their  Plots  are  single,  they 
carry  on  one  Design  which  is  push'd  forward  by  all  the  Actors, 
every  Scene  in  the  Play  contributing  and  moving  towards  it :  Our 
Plays,  besides  the  main  Design,  have  Under-Plots,  or  By-Concern- 
ments, of  less  considerable  Persons,  and  Intrigues,  which  are 
^  An  Essay  of  Dramatick  Poesie. 

25 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

carried  on  with  the  Motion  of  the  main  Plot :  As  they  say  the  Orb 
of  the  fix'd  Stars,  and  those  of  the  Planets,  though  they  have 
Motions  of  their  own,  are  whirl'd  about  by  the  Motion  of  the 
primum  mobile^  in  which  they  are  contain'd  :  That  Similitude 
expresses  much  of  the  English  Stage  :  For  if  contrary  Motions 
may  be  found  in  Nature  to  agree  ;  if  a  Planet  can  go  East  and 
West  at  the  same  time  ;  one  way  by  Virtue  of  his  own  Motion, 
the  other  by  the  force  of  the  first  Mover ;  it  will  not  be  difficult 
to  imagine  how  the  Under-Plot,  which  is  only  different,  not 
contrary  to  the  great  Design,  may  naturally  be  conducted  along 
with  it. 

Dryden,  however,  does  not  stand  alone.  If  he  was  the 
"  first  mover  "  of  the  neo-classic  school  Dr  Johnson  was, 
a  century  later,  the  very  high  priest  and  dictator  of  the 
Augustans,  yet  with  a  retained  naturalness  and  a  lack  of 
mental  servitude  which  is  seen  nowhere  more  clearly  than 
in  his  famous  pronouncement  on  this  precise  theme. 

I  know  not  whether  he  that  professes  to  regard  no  other  laws 
than  those  of  nature,  will  not  be  inclined  to  receive  tragi-comedy 
to  his  protection,  whom,  however  generally  condemned,  her  own 
laurels  have  hitherto  shaded  from  the  fulminations  of  criticism. 
For  what  is  there  in  the  mingled  drama  which  impartial  reason 
can  condemn  ?  The  connexion  of  important  with  trivial  incidents, 
since  it  is  not  only  common  but  perpetual  in  the  world,  may  surely 
be  allowed  upon  the  stage,  which. pretends  only  to  be  the  mirror 
of  life.  The  impropriety  of  suppressing  passions  before  we  have 
raised  them  to  the  intended  agitation,  and  of  diverting  the  expecta- 
tion from  an  event  which  we  keep  suspended  only  to  raise  it,  may 
be  speciously  urged.  But  will  not  experience  show  this  objection 
to  be  rather  subtle  than  just  t  Is  it  not  certain  that  the  tragick 
and  comick  affections  have  been  moved  alternately  with  equal 
force,  and  that  no  plays  have  oftener  filled  the  eye  with  tears,  and 
the  breast  with  palpitation,  than  those  which  are  variegated  with 
interludes  of  mirth  .'' ' 

*   The  Rambler,  No.  156. 
26 


TRAGEDY  AND   COMEDY 

The  Relations  between  Types  of  Tragedy  and  of 
Comedy. — The  decisions  of  Dryden  and  Johnson,  compared 
and  contrasted  with  the  decisions  of  others  of  their  own 
and  of  different  schools,  show  clearly  enough  the  secret 
that  underlies  this  problem  of  tragi-comedy.  While,  how- 
ever, we  may  recognize  that  the  more  natural  the  age, 
the  more  will  comedy  and  tragedy  be  mingled,  and  that  the 
more  natural  and  independent  the  critic,  the  more  will  he 
find  the  kinship  of  these  two  apparently  diverse  types,  there 
are  two  facts  which  must  here  be  noted  and  borne  in  mind. 
The  first  is,  that  there  are  certain  types  of  tragedy  which 
seem  to  have  an  emotional  affinity  to  corresponding  types  of 
comedy.  A  realization  of  this  is  expressed  by  Shelley  in 
his  Defence  of  Poetry.  "  The  modern  practice,"  he  says, 
contrasting  the  ancient  stage  with  the  Elizabethan,  "  of 
blending  comedy  with  tragedy,  though  liable  to  great  abuse 
in  point  of  practice,  is  undoubtedly  an  extension  of  the 
dramatic  circle  ;  but  the  comedy  should  be  as  in  King  Lear, 
universal,  ideal,  and  sublime."  If  we  imagine  King  Lear 
with  the  Fool  cut  away  and  his  place  taken  by  a  set  of 
characters  such  as  appear  in  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew  we 
shall,  I  think,  realize  the  peculiar  affinity  that  exists  between 
the  tragic  spirit  of  Lear  and  the  comic  spirit  of  the  jester. 
On  the  other  hand,  we  could  not  imagine  a  satisfactory 
union  of  the  peculiar  comedy  of  Lear's  fool  and,  let  us  say, 
the  heroic  drama  of  the  Restoration.  That  heroic  drama, 
strangely  enough,  finds  its  comic  affinity  in  the  sphere  of 
manners.  Dryden  has  written  plays,  such  as  Secret  Love,  or. 
The  Maiden  Queen,  where  something  of  the  heroic  note 
is  struck  in  some  scenes,  something  of  the  manners  note  in 
others ;  and  the  two  seem  well  to  harmonize.  Etherege, 
the  real  founder  of  the  true  manners  style,  presented  in  his 
first  play.  The  Comical  Revenge,  or.  Love  in  a  Tub,  a  tragi- 
comedy where  rimed  heroic  scenes  alternated  with   pure 

27 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Restoration  comedy.  The  reason  of  the  harmony  may  be 
discovered  probably  in  the  fact  that  both  are  artificial.  The 
heroism  of  the  Drawcansir  serious  dramas  is  as  removed 
from  the  physical  realities  of  life  as  is  the  airy  dallying  of 
the  comic  muse  of  Congreve.  It  is  the  artificiality  which 
forms  the  link  between  the  two.^ 

Passing  still  farther,  we  may  find  a  bond  of  union  between 
the  comic  parts  of  the  sentimental  drama  of  the  eighteenth 
century  and  the  domestic  drama  of  the  same  age.  The 
domestic  drama  depends  upon  reality.  How  true  a  picture 
it  may  be  of  actual  life  will,  of  course,  rest  with  the  par- 
ticular genius  of  the  dramatist,  but  it  will  never  seek  to 
enter  either  the  realms  of  the  Shakespearian  tragedy  or  the 
dominion  of  the  artificial  heroic  species.  The  romantic 
comedy  of  Shakespeare,  therefore,  unless  considerably 
altered,  would  hardly  harmonize  with  its  spirit,  and  still 
further  the  comedy  of  manners  would  be  wholly  alien  to 
its  outlook  and  aim.  The  comedy  that  is  associated  with 
the  sentimental  genre,  however,  also  makes  an  appeal  to 
reality.  It  may  be  often  a  spurious  form  of  comedy,  but 
that  is  not  of  importance  here.  What  is  of  importance 
is  that  it  is  able  to  go  along  with  the  domestic  tragedy  with- 
out producing  that  clash  of  two  spirits  which  is  noticeable 
in  some  transition  plays — the  plays  that  come  between  the 
Elizabethan  and  the  Caroline  periods,  and  those  between 
the  eras  of  Restoration  wit  and  of  eighteenth-century 
sentimentalism. 

This,  then,  is  a  point  we  are  bound  to  note  in  all  attempts 
to  relate  in  any  way  the  spirits  of  tragedy  and  of  comedy — 
the  correspondence  of  certain  types  of  tragic  and  of  comic 
expression.     There  is,  besides,  a  species  of  converse  truth 

^  This  artificiality,  of  course,  depends  largely  upon  intellectual 
qualities.    The  wit  of  the  comedy  of  manners  and  the  rhetoric  of 
the  heroic  tragedy  are  thus  bound  together  by  the  common  tie 
of  rational  as  opposed  to  emotional  creation. 
28 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

which  is  no  less  observable.  Not  only  are  certain  types  of 
comedy  unsuited  for  certain  types  of  tragedy,  but,  as  will  be 
perfectly  apparent,  tragedy  and  comedy  can  both  develop 
along  separate  lines  so  as  to  become,  in  an  extreme  form, 
fundamentally  opposed.  Thus,  for  example,  a  violently 
cynical  spirit  will  effectually  extinguish  even  the  possibility 
of  a  certain  type  of  tragic  expression.  Let  us  take  Othello. 
If  Othello  is  to  be  appreciated  aright  an  atmosphere,  a  mood, 
must  be  created  in  the  mind  fitted  for  the  reception  of  the 
tragic  spirit  of  the  play.  Let  but  one  thought  of  cynicism 
as  regards  the  development  of  the  plot  enter  in,  and  the 
whole  effect  will  be  lost.  Rymer  thus  found  it  impossible 
to  appreciate  this  tragedy,  partly  no  doubt  because  of  neo- 
classic  prejudice,  but  mainly  because  he  was  not  prepared 
to  accept  certain  axioms  which  Shakespeare  had  laid  down. 
Cynicism,  on  the  other  hand,  is  not  inimical  to  the  heroic 
tragedy,  precisely  because  that  heroic  tragedy  is  far  beyond 
the  reach  of  cynicism.  Men  of  the  Restoration  age  might 
laugh  at  honour,  cynically  jeer  at  love,  but  they  could 
appreciate  in  their  own  way  the  Love  and  Honour  dramas. 
Farce,  for  a  different  reason,  is  alien  to  almost  all  forms  of 
tragedy.  There  could  be  no  purely  farcical  under-plot  in 
either  a  Shakespearian  or  a  Restoration  tragedy.  Dryden 
could  take  Troilus  and  Cressida,  heroicize  the  characters  of 
the  lover  and  his  mistress,  creating  thereby  a  truly  tragic 
conclusion,  and  at  the  same  time  make  cynical  the  figure 
of  Pandarus  ;  but  he  could  not  have  introduced  in  the  midst 
of  his  serious  scenes  the  slightest  element  of  farce  without 
irretrievably  ruining  his  drama.  In  working  along  the  two 
lines  of  heroics  and  of  cynicism  he  realized  their  affinity ; 
farce  he  kept  for  his  purely  comic  inventions. 

If  we  bear  in  mind  these  distinctions,  remembering  on 
the  one  hand  the  intimate  relations  that  exist  between 
tragedy  and  comedy,  and  on  the  other  the  fact  that  comedy 

29 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

can  so  develop  as  to  preclude  any  idea  of  harmonious  juxta- 
position with  tragedy  or  with  certain  types  of  tragedy,  we 
may  find  it  possible  to  analyse,  or  to  present  suggestions 
for  an  analysis  of,  those  characteristics  which  tragedy  and 
comedy  appear  to  have  in  common.  For  this  purpose  it 
will  be  best,  as  far  as  is  possible,  to  confine  our  attention, 
in  this  preliminary  inquiry  at  least,  to  the  more  aristocratic 
realms  of  the  dramatic  muse,  dealing  principally  with  what 
we  may  call  high  tragedy  and  fine  comedy.  A  slight  glance 
at  the  signification  of  these  terms  may  fitly  follow  here. 

(iii)  THE  FABLE  1  (  f^L(^r^ 

Farce  and  Melodrama. — High  tragedy  may  be  appro- 
priately opposed  to  melodrama,  although  there  are  other 
types  of  serious  drama,  as  we  shall  find,  which  cannot  be 
included  along  with  the  plays  of  iEschylus  and  of  Shake- 
speare, and  yet  possess  no  elements  which  could  possibly  be 
styled  melodramatic  :  fine  comedy  may  as  appropriately  be 
opposed  to  farce.  Concrete  instances  will  make  the  posi- 
tion clear.  We  call  Brandon  Thomas's  Charley's  Aunt  a 
farce  :  we  call  Kyd's  The  Spanish  Tragedy  a  melodrama. 
What  are  our  reasons  for  thus  labelling  those  two  .?  In  the 
first  place,  there  is  to  be  noted  the  use  of  the  words  farce 
and  melodrama,  so  that  we  may  not  be  misled  by  ancient  or 
popular  associations.  Farce,  according  to  the  etymologists,  is 
a  word  derived  ultimately  from  the  Latin  farcio,  '  I  stuff,' 
so  that  farce  means  the  type  of  drama  '  stuffed  with  low 
humour  and  extravagant  wit.'  ^  The  word  came  into  fre- 
quent use  in  England  only  toward  the  end  of  the  seventeenth 

1  Fable  is  the  regular  word  used  in  neo-classic  criticism  for  the 
plot  as  opposed  to  the  characters  of  the  play.  The  distinction  is 
to  be  traced  back  to  Aristotle. 

*  The  development  of  meaning  in  this  word,  from  the  world  of 
I)hysical  tilings  to  the  realm  of  theology  and  thence  to  the  theatre, 
may  be  fully  studied  in  the  Oxford  Dictionary. 
30 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

century,  and  was  then  and  thereafter  employed  not  always 
in  a  strict  and  circumscribed  sense.  There  was  a  certain 
degenerating  movement  in  comedy  which  started  from  about 
the  year  1675,  and  the  tastes  of  the  audience  ever  more  and 
more  drew  the  dramatists  to  introduce  weaker  and  frailer 
types  of  humorous  drama.  A  fashion  sprang  up  for  three- 
act  plays.  These  three-act  plays  were  generally  not  so 
witty  or  so  brilliant  as  the  fuller  five-act  dramas  of  the  more 
regular  authors ;  but  the  word  farce  was  applied  to  them 
solely  in  contradistinction  to  the  richer  and  more  extended 
comedies  of  the  time.  Farce,  then,  came  to  mean  simply  a 
short  humorous  play.  As,  however,  in  a  short  play  there 
is  usually  no  time  or  opportunity  for  the  broader  display  of 
character  and  of  plot,  farces  came  rapidly  to  deal  only  with 
exaggerated,  and  hence  often  impossible,  comic  incidents 
with  frequent  resort  to  mere  horseplay.  With  this  signi- 
fication the  word  has  endured  to  modern  times.  Melodrama 
has  a  somewhat  similar  development  of  meaning.  Derived 
from  the  Greek  ytieXo?,  'a  song,'  it  originally  signified  only 
a  serious  drama  wherein  a  number  of  lyrics  were  introduced, 
becoming  in  some  respects  equivalent  to  opera.  In  this  way 
both  a  tragedy  of  iEschylus  and  a  piece  by  Metastasio  might 
be  included  under  the  one  term.  With  the  operatic  ten- 
dencies of  the  eighteenth  century,  however,  melodrama, 
as  distinguished  from  tragedy,  tended  to  become  increasingly 
more  sensational,  neglecting  the  characterization  and  the 
true  tragic  spirit  for  the  sake  of  mere  efi^ect.  Song,  show, 
and  incident  became  the  prevailing  characteristics  in  it,  as 
buff^oonery  and  extravagant  development  of  plot  did  in  farce. 
Plot  and  Character. — In  both  farce  and  melodrama, 
therefore,  there  is  an  undue  insistence  upon  incident.  As, 
however,  we  found  that  farce  was  opposed  to  fine  comedy 
and  that  melodrama  was  one  of  the  chief  antitheses  to  high 
tragedy,  we  may  expect  to  find  that  all  great  drama,  whether 

31 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

it  be  tragedy,  comedy,  or  a  species  in  which  both  are 
mingled,  will  be  distinguished  above  all  things  by  a  penetrat- 
ing and  illuminating  power  of  characterization,  or  at  least 
by  an  insistence  upon  something  deeper  and  more  profound 
than  mere  outward  events.  The  plot  will,  accordingly,  not 
be  of  paramount  importance.  This  statement  brings  us  at 
once  into  conflict  with  what  has  always  been  regarded  as 
one  of  the  most  famous  dicta  of  Aristotle.  It  is  well  known 
that  Aristotle  has  given  to  drama  six  main  parts :  Fable, 
Character,  Diction,  Thought,  Decoration,  and  Music,  and 
has  decided  categorically  that  "  of  all  these  parts  the  most 
important  is  the  combination  of  incidents."  "  Because," 
he  explains,  "  Tragedy  is  an  imitation,  not  of  men,  but  of 
Action — of  life ;  and  life  consists  in  Action,  and  its  end 
is  Action  of  a  certain  kind,  not  quality.  Now  men's 
Character  constitutes  their  quality  ;  but  it  is  by  their  Actions 
that  they  are  happy,  or  the  contrary.  Tragedy,  therefore, 
does  not  imitate  Action  for  the  sake  of  imitating  Character, 
but  in  the  imitation  of  Action  that  of  Character  is  of  course 
involved ;  so  that  the  Action  and  the  Plot  are  the  end  of 
Tragedy ;  and  the  end  is  of  principal  importance."  ^ 

It  is  fairly  obvious  here  that  Aristotle  has  for  once  been 
mistaken,  that  we  have  in  fact  to  deal  with  a  logical  error. 
It  may  be  admitted  that  no  drama  can  exist  without  some 
kind  of  a  plot,  however  slight.  Drama,  after  all,  is  the 
telling  of  a  story  in  dialogue.  Even  an  apparently  motion- 
less play,  such  as  Maeterlinck's  Les  Jveugles,  has  a  plot,  a 
story,  flimsy  perhaps,  but  nevertheless  the  background  against 
which  the  characters  are  outlined.  At  the  same  time,  it 
can  never  be  admitted  that  the  plot  is  of  chief  importance 

^  Poetics,  chapter  vi.  The  reading  of  the  first  sentence  of  this 
quotation  is  in  the  simphfied  form,  now,  I  beheve,  usually  preferred. 
Though  Butcher  makes  a  plea  for  a  wider  sense  of  irpulis  than 
'  action  '  the  fact  remains  that  classical  enthusiasts  from  the  Ke- 
nascencc  to  Arnold  have  allowed  Aristotle's  insistence  on  '  action  ' 
to  guide  them. 
32 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

in  a  drama,  or  that  it  is  the  plot  that  gives  to  a  great 
tragedy  or  to  a  great  comedy  its  outstanding  position.  That 
outstanding  position  must  come  from  the  presentation  of 
character,  from  the  ideas  and  the  atmosphere  and  the  style 
of  the  drama,  for  all  of  which  the  plot  but  forms  the  setting. 
The  Greek  tragic  poets  utilized  mere  threadbare  tales ; 
Shakespeare,  with  a  divine  hand,  drew  his  stories  from 
scattered  volumes  of  Italian  novelle  or  from  dramas  which 
had  been  written  by  his  predecessors.  The  plot  is  merely 
the  framework  on  which  is  embroidered  the  gorgeous  tapestry 
of  the  poet's  invention. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  certain  plea  may  be  made  for 
Aristotle's  statement.  The  drama  cannot  be  looked  at 
from  one  angle  alone.  There  are,  indeed,  two  main  methods 
of  approaching  tragedy  and  comedy,  the  one  through  the 
printed  page,  and  the  other  through  the  medium  of  the 
spoken  word  in  the  theatre.  It  by  no  means  follows  that 
the  two  views  will  coincide  so  as  to  present  the  same  object 
in  the  same  light.  Let  us  take  as  examples  Hamlet  and 
A  Miduimmer  Night's  Dream.  In  reading  either  of  these 
plays  we  hardly  think  of  the  plot.  Is  it  Hamlet  ?  At 
once  the  figure,  the  character,  the  words  of  the  hero  spring 
into  our  mind.  After  that,  it  is  the  characters  of  the  lesser 
dramatis  persona  that  flash  before  us ;  then  the  more 
salient  scenes  of  the  play — the  ghost  walking  on  the  battle- 
ments, the  play  within  the  play,  the  scene  of  the  gravediggers. 
Character,  diction,  situation — all  of  these,  not  the  plot,  make 
Hamlet  great  for  us  in  the  study.  Is  it  A  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream  .?  Here  probably  the  characters  do  not  strike 
us  so  forcibly,  although  at  once  Bottom  and  his  com- 
panions spring  up  before  our  minds.  It  is  in  this  case  rather 
the  atmosphere  of  the  play,  the  delicate  aroma  of  spring- 
flowering  poetry,  the  fairy-world,  that  capture  our  attention. 
Again  situation,  diction,  character — never  the  plot. 

c  33 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  turn  to  the  theatre  what  do 
we  find  ?  Not  only  with  Ehzabethan  but  also  with  modern 
audiences  it  is  the  plot  that  absorbs  most  attention.  In 
Hamlet  it  is  the  peculiar,  singularly  delayed  action  of  the 
piece,  in  j4  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  the  strange  inversions 
and  complicated  amours,  that  serve  to  attract  and  keep  in- 
terested the  attention  of  the  spectators.  We  have,  then,  to 
face  fairly  this  exceedingly  difficult  problem — whether  the 
drama  should  be  studied  as  a  part  of  literature  or  as  a  product 
of  the  theatre,  A  great  drama  regarded  as  a  piece  of 
literature  depends  for  its  greatness  on  something  far  other 
than  mere  plot  j  a  play  to  be  successful  on  the  stage 
(unless  it  be  a  pure  piece  of  show  as  have  been  not  a  few  of 
our  more  recent  Eastern  triumphs)  demands  a  plot  well 
knit,  intriguing,  full  of  interest,  and  artistically  conceived. 
The  point  of  view  of  the  theatre  and  the  point  of  view  of 
the  study,  therefore,  not  only  do  not  coalesce,  but  are  poles 
asunder.  It  is  not  the  poetry  oi  Hamlet  that  has  made  that 
drama  a  great  stage  success  from  the  seventeenth  century 
onward,  and  which  has  made  it  appeal  to  the  audiences  of 
countless  lands;  it  is  the  plot,  the  theme  of  revenge  cleverly 
told.  It  is  not  the  plot  o^  Hamlet,  on  the  other  hand,  that 
has  made  that  play  the  most  outstanding  and  the  most  pro- 
found in  the  eyes  of  the  amateurs  and  the  critics  of  Shake- 
speare j  it  is  the  inner  qualities  that  have  constituted  it  a 
work  of  supreme  literary  art. 


(iv)  CHARACTERIZATION  AND  INWARDNESS 

Inwardness  in  Tragedy. — In  pursuing  our  investiga- 
tion we  have  found  that  in  every  great  tragedy  which  has  had 
a  stage  as  well  as  a  closet  success  there  is  in  reality  a  double 
tragedy ;  in  every  great  comedy  there  is  likewise  a  double 
source  of  the  comic  spirit.  The  inner  tragedy  is  what  has 
34 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

made  all  great  dramas  what  they  are.  In  comedy  there 
may  be  buffoonery,  there  may  be  a  quite  noticeable  amount 
of  farcical  elements,  but  there  must  also  be  a  bubbling  inner 
wit.  Farce  and  melodrama,  therefore,  will  be  found  to  be 
distinguished  from  fine  comedy  and  from  high  tragedy  in 
that  they  have  nothing,  or  practically  nothing,  that  makes 
an  inward  appeal,  whereas,  on  the  other  hand,  even  a  high 
tragedy,  such  as  Hamlet,  may  have  decidedly  melodramatic  or 
sensational  elements  in  the  plot,  and  a  fine  comedy,  such  as 
ji  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  may  utilize  for  stage  purposes 
elements  which,  if  not  precisely  farcical,  depend  in  some 
way  or  another  on  mere  external  merriment.  While  in  this 
book,  designed  for  the  reader  rather  than  for  the  spectator, 
most  attention  will  be  centred  on  the  drama  as  a  form  of 
literature  to  be  studied  in  the  library,  it  must  be  remembered 
that  both  points  of  view  have  always  to  be  borne  in  mind 
when  criticizing  any  play.  We  must  both  discount  from 
and  add  to  our  appreciation  of  Hamlet  by  a  consideration 
of  that  tragedy  as  a  drama  written  to  be  acted  and  with  an 
acknowledged  success  upon  the  stage. 

While  we  recognize  this  fact,  that  a  play  makes  its  appeal 
in  the  theatre  largely  through  an  outer  series  of  incidents, 
whereas  it  makes  its  appeal  in  the  library  for  something 
apart  from  incident,  we  must  also  recognize  that  in  the 
theatre  some  part  at  least  of  the  inner  tragedy  and  of  the 
inner  comedy  may  be  appreciated  ;  and  as  civilization  has 
advanced  the  inner  elements  have  been  ever  more  markedly 
stressed,  possibly  partly  because  of  an  increased  sensitiveness 
in  the  audience,  but  much  more  because  of  a  new  appeal 
made  by  the  drama  to  a  larger  reading  public.  If  we  con- 
trast the  theatre  of  the  Greeks  with  the  theatre  of  the 
Elizabethans  we  shall  note  how  much  deeper  and  more 
profound  the  modern  tragedy  has  become.  Supreme  poetry 
may  be  found  in  both ;    but    there  is  an   atmosphere   in 

35 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Hamlet  and  in  Lear,  even  in  lesser  plays  such  as  Webster's 
The  Duchess  of  Malfi  and  Otway's  The  Orphan,  which  is 
lacking  in  Sophocles'  (Edipus  Coloneus  and  Philoctetes. 
This  inwardness,  to  use  Professor  Vaughan's  phrase,^  is  the 
marked  characteristic  of  modern  as  opposed  to  ancient 
drama,  and  it  is  arrived  at  partly  from  a  deeper  power  and 
sense  of  psychological  analysis — the  presentation  of  etats 
de  rdme  rather  than  of  mere  situation — partly  by  that 
greater  freedom  of  the  romantic  drama  which  permits  of 
development  of  character,  and  partly  also  by  a  new  atmo- 
sphere connected  with  these  two  things,  yet  in  some  ways 
independent  of  both.  The  very  fact  that  we  can  watch 
Lear  changing  from  a  headstrong,  imperious  monarch  to 
a  chastened  human  being,  the  very  fact  that  we  can  watch 
the  development  of  character  in  a  figure  such  as  Monimia,^ 
shows  to  us  the  power  that  lies  in  the  romantic  drama 
discovered  only  in  the  Middle  Ages  and  unknown  to  the 
rigidity  of  the  Greek  stage.  That  this  inwardness  has 
increased  rather  than  degenerated  in  the  still  more  recent 
period  is  a  fact  that  requires  little  proof.  Modern  investiga- 
tions into  the  realms  of  psychology  have  opened  up  new 
ways  for  the  playwrights,  and  in  a  dramatist  of  the  genius 
of  Ibsen  we  discover  that  character  and  atmosphere  have 
been  stressed  far  more  deeply  than  in  preceding  drama. 
If  we  come  still  later  into  the  present  century  and  glance 
at  the  plays  of  Maeterlinck  we  find  there  has  been  yet 
a  farther  advance  from  the  inwardness  of  Elizabethan 
drama,  for  Maeterlinck's  peculiar  genius,  reinforced  by  his 
philosophical  beliefs,  is  able  to  carry  us  into  a  strange 
world  where  only  the  subconscious  self,  the  soul,  is  heard. 

^  The  ultimate  form  of  his  decision  is  that  "  the  unvarying 
tendency  of  tragedy — and  even  tlie  work  of  Ibsen  is  no  exception — 
has  been  from  the  less  to  the  more  ideal,  from  the  less  to  the  more 
inward  "  (Types  oj  Tragic  Drama,  p.  271). 

'  In  Otway's  The  Orphan. 
36 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

The  mysterious  chant  of  the  Infinite,  the  ominous  silence  of 
the  soul  and  of  God,  the  murmur  of  Eternity  on  the  horizon,  the 
destiny  or  fatality  that  we  are  conscious  of  within  us,  though  by 
what  tokens  none  can  tell — do  not  all  these  underlie  King  Lear, 
Macbeth,  Hamlet  ?  And  would  it  not  be  possible,  by  some 
interchanging  of  the  rSks,  to  bring  them  nearer  to  us,  and  send  the 
actors  farther  off?  Is  it  beyond  the  mark  to  say  that  the  true 
tragic  element,  normal,  deep-rooted,  and  universal,  that  the  true 
tragic  element  of  life  only  begins  at  the  moment  when  so-called 
adventures,  sorrows,  and  dangers  have  disappeared  ?  Is  the  arm 
of  happiness  not  longer  than  that  of  sorrow,  and  do  not  certain  of 
its  attributes  draw  nearer  to  the  soul  ?  Must  we  indeed  roar  like 
the  Atrides,  before  the  Eternal  God  will  reveal  Himself  in  our 
life  ?  and  is  He  never  by  our  side  at  times  when  the  air  is  calm, 
and  the  lamp  burns  on,  unflickering  ?  .  .  .  Indeed,  when  I  go 
to  a  theatre,  I  feel  as  though  I  were  spending  a  few  hours  with  my 
ancestors,  who  conceived  life  as  something  that  was  primitive,  arid, 
and  brutal ;  but  this  conception  of  theirs  scarcely  even  lingers  in 
my  memory,  and  surely  it  is  not  one  that  I  can  share.  I  am  shown 
a  deceived  husband  killing  his  wife,  a  woman  poisoning  her  lover, 
a  son  avenging  his  father,  a  father  slaughtering  his  children,  children 
putting  their  father  to  death,  murdered  kings,  ravished  virgins, 
imprisoned  citizens — in  a  word,  all  the  sublimity  of  tradition,  but 
alas,  how  superficial  and  material  !  Blood,  surface-tears,  and 
death  !  What  can  I  learn  from  creatures  who  have  but  one  fixed 
idea,  and  who  have  no  time  to  live,  for  that  there  is  a  rival,  or  a 
mistress,  whom  it  behoves  them  to  put  to  death  ?  ^ 

This,  probably,  is  the  most  important  piece  of  creative 
criticism  on  the  drama  that  has  appeared  for  the  last  century. 
We  see  it  expressed  in  the  theatre  itself,  not  only  in  Pelleas 
et  Melisande,  but  in  many  of  the  domestic  dramas  of  Ibsen, 
There  is  an  attempt  in  both  to  pass  from  the  Shakespearian 
conception  of  tragedy  to  another  conception  more  fitting 
to    the   modern    age.     There   is   an    endeavour   to   move 

^  The  Treasure  oj  the  Humble,  essay  on  "  The  Tragical  in  Daily 
Life,"  translated  by  Alfred  Sutro. 

37 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

from  the  tragedy  of  blood  and  of  apparent  greatness  to  the 
tragedy  where  death  is  not  a  tragic  fact  and  where  apparent 
greatness  is  dimmed  by  an  inner  greatness.  Shakespeare 
found  the  world  of  character,  of  inner  tragedy ;  the  modern 
age  has  found  the  world  of  the  subconscious,  adapting  it,  as 
every  age  has  adapted  the  desires  and  the  moods  of  its  time, 
to  the  requirements  of  the  theatre.  It  is  for  this  reason 
that  we  may  regard  this  and  similar  pronouncements  of 
Maeterlinck  as  the  greatest  contribution  to  the  develop- 
ment of  the  drama  since  the  end  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
It  is  a  proof  that  the  creative  instinct  in  the  theatre  is  still 
vital  and  pulsating. 

Inwardness  in  Comedy. — In  comedy  the  same  or  a 
similar  movement  may  be  traced.  If  we  contrast  a  play  of 
Terence  with  a  play  of  Shakespeare  or  a  play  of  Congreve 
we  discover  that,  whereas  in  the  Roman  piece  most  of 
the  stress  of  the  comic  spirit  was  laid  upon  incident  with 
occasional  characterization,  the  comedy  of  Shakespeare 
depends  largely  on  character,  with  the  introduction  of  that 
peculiarly  modern  branch  of  the  comic  to  which  we  give 
the  name  of  humour,  and  that  the  comedy  of  Congreve 
depends  largely  upon  an  inner  wit,  independent  often  of 
incident  and  of  plot,  Shakespeare's  comedies  are  good  acting 
plays  because  he  has  been  careful  to  elaborate  artistically 
an  interesting  story,  paying  attention  both  to  die  inner 
comedy  and  to  the  outer;  but  the  modern  tendency  can  be 
carried  so  far,  both  in  tragedy  and  in  comedy,  that  the  plays 
cease  to  interest  save  in  a  written  form.  One  of  the  reasons 
why  so  many  of  the  tragedies  produced  during  the  period 
of  the  Romantic  Revival  failed  on  the  stage  was  that  in  those 
plays  the  poets  were  interested  solely  in  the  development 
of  an  inner  theme,  leaving  the  actual  tale  either  untold 
or  but  hastily  sketched  in.  Where  Shakespeare  had  kept 
a  balance  they  swept  to  the  extreme  that  lies  opposed  to 
38 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

melodrama.  In  comedy  the  same  phenomenon  is  visible. 
Many  critics  have  pronounced  Congreve's  The  Way  of 
the  World  the  finest  English  comedy;  yet  why  was  that 
play  a  failure  on  the  stage  at  its  first  production  and  not 
very  popular  thereafter  ?  Precisely  because  there  is  in  it 
no  plot,  because  the  comic  is  all  of  the  inner  type,  capable 
of  being  appreciated  only  in  slow  and  deliberate  reading. 
The  Way  of  the  World  is  too  fine  to  be  appreciated  in 
the  theatre ;  the  laughter  in  it  arises  not  from  incidents 
or  even  from  situation,  but  from  the  use  of  words  and  the 
graceful  playing  of  a  brilliant  fancy.  Just  as  the  true  force 
q{  Hamlet  is  lost  on  the  stage,  so  the  true  wit  of  Congreve's 
masterpiece  is  lost,  and  in  it  there  is  nothing  to  take  the 
place  of  the  absorbing  theme  of  Hamlet.  The  truth  of  this 
is  easily  demonstrable  by  a  glance  at  the  other  plays  of  the 
Restoration  comic  dramatist.  Love  for  Love  was  success- 
ful ;  The  Old  Batchelor  was  successful.  Why  ?  Because  in 
these  two  plays,  while  there  is  a  sparkling  inner  wit,  there 
is  also  an  appeal  made  to  the  outward  sources  of  laughter. 
Plot,  incidents,  and  situation  are  all  utilized  for  comic  effect. 
Farquhar's  plays  were  probably  still  more  successful  on  the 
stage  because  in  them  the  inner  wit  that  Congreve  knew 
is  for  the  most  part  absent,  the  comic  of  situation  taking 
its  place  The  scene  between  Mrs  Parley  and  Colonel 
Standard  in  A  Trip  to  the  Jubilee,  and  the  scene  between 
Lady  Lurewell  and  Monsieur  Marquis  in  the  same  play, 
depend  for  their  effect  purely  on  outward  sources  of 
laughter ;  there  is  in  them  not  a  sparkle  of  Congreve's 
genius.  Dryden's  greatest  stage  successes  have  the  same 
qualities.  Sir  Martin  Mar-all  made  its  appeal  for  no  wit 
of  words  or  of  fancy,  but  for  the  comic  development  of 
the  plot.  The  humour  of  Amphitryoyi  depends  entirely,  or 
almost  entirely,  upon  mere  absurd  situation.  The  presence 
of  Jove  in  a  man's  form,  the  opposition    of  the    thievish 

39 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Mercury  and  the  shivering,  aggrieved  Sosia — these  are  what 
made  this  play  a  success  in  its  own  time  and  in  the  eighteenth 
century,  and  called  forth  laughter  at  the  recent  revival  of 
it  by  the  Phoenix  Society. 

Our  investigation,  then,  has  led  us  slightly  farther,  to  a 
realization  of  a  set  of  facts  which  may  thus  be  summarized  : 
the  spectator  demands  primarily  incident,  the  reader  inner 
comedy  and  inner  tragedy ;  while  the  tendency  of  modern 
drama,  both  serious  and  comic,  has  been  toward  a  stressing 
of  the  inner  at  the  expense  of  the  outer. 


(v)  THE  CONFLICT 

Outer  Conflict  in  Tragedy. — The  facts  just  men- 
tioned become  still  more  apparent  when  we  come  to  consider 
that  cardinal  part  of  drama,  the  conflict.  All  drama 
ultimately  arises  out  of  conflict.  In  tragedy  there  is  ever 
a  clash  between  forces  physical  or  mental  or  both  ;  in 
comedy  there  is  ever  a  conflict  between  personalities, 
between  the  sexes,  or  between  an  individual  and  society. 
In  tragedy  the  "  pity  and  terror,''^  to  use  Aristotle's  famous 
phrase,  issues  out  of  this  conflict;  in  comedy  the  essence 
of  the  laughable  is  derived  from  the  same  source. 

It  is  obvious  that  in  tragedy  there  may  be  manifold 
varieties  of  the  principle  of  conflict  manifested  not  only 
in  different  dramas  but  even  in  one  single  play.  The  purely 
outward  conflict  is  the  first  type  to  catch  our  attention. 
Here  a  struggle  between  two  physical  forces  (which  may  be 
characters),  or  between  two  minds,  or  between  a  person 
and  a  force  beyond  that  person,  is  to  be  found  most  fully 
expressed  in  the  drama  of  ancient  Greece.  Because  of 
the  restrictions  of  the  Athenian  stage,  inducing  as  they 
did  a  theatrical  productivity  of  statuesque  proportions  and 

^  On  the  validity  of  the  plirasc,  however,  sec  infra,  pp.  71  fi. 
40 


TRAGEDY   AND   COMEDY 

atmosphere,  the  tragedy  of  ^Eschylus,  of  Sophocles,  and  of 
Euripides  presents  the  paradox  of  depending   upon   action, 
in  the  sense  that  the  tragic  conflict  is  an  outward  conflict, 
and  yet  of  ruh'ng  out  action,  in  the  sense  of  movement, 
from  the  development  of  the  plot.      It  might  be  more  correct 
to  say,  as  Professor  Vaughan  has  pointed  out,  that  the  Greek 
drama  is  a  drama  of  situation,  a  particular  species  of  dramatic 
effort  handed  on  to  the  neo-classic  playw^rights  of  France 
and  Italy.     This  situation  is  nearly  always  one  of  outward 
struggle  ;   struggle  of  a  man  with  some  force  outside  himself, 
as  with  Orestes  and  the  Furies,  or  struggle  of  man  with 
man,  as  with  Agamemnon  and  Clytemnestra,  Ulysses  and 
Andromache.i     This  outer  conflict  is  obviously  the  most 
primitive  of  all  types  of  tragic  struggle.      It  requires  genius  to 
raise  it  to  the  height  of  impassioned  art.     A  minor  dramatist 
working  on  a  romantic  theme  in  a  romantic  manner  may 
in  some  place  reach  a  height  that  is  truly  arresting  ;   but 
only  a  Racine  and  an  Al  fieri  can  make  of  the  drama  of 
situation   a   thing   of  pulsating   truth   and   interest.     The 
outer  conflict,  on  the  other  hand,  is  not,  of  course,  confined 
to  the  classic  or  to  the  neo-classic  schools.     The  founder 
of  the   English    romantic   drama,    Christopher    Marlowe, 
except  in  one  scene  of  Dr  Faustus  and  in  the  historical 
play  of  Edward  II,  presents  nothing  to  us  but  the  clash  of 
external  figures  and  forces.     Tamburlaine  the  Great  in  the 
play  of  that  title  stands  in  opposition  to  the  force  of  life; 
Barabas  in  the  Jeiu  of  Malta  is  a  tragic  figure  because  of 
his  similar  position.     The  interest  of  both  plays  depends 
first  on  the  clash  between  one  dominating  personality  and 
a  world  of  lesser  figures,  and  secondly  on  the  clash  between 
that  dominating  personality  and  a  power  beyond  and  above  it. 
Inner  Conflict  in  Tragedy. — Opposed  to  this  is  the 
inward  conflict,  impossible  of  realization  in  its  purest  form. 

1   In  Seneca's  Troades. 

41 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Inwardness,  as  we  have  seen,  is  a  characteristic  of  the  modern 
as  contrasted  with  the  ancient  drama,  and  this  inwardness 
is  nowhere  better  seen  than  in  the  field  of  tragic  struggle. 
In  spite  of  the  ridicule  cast  by  academicians  on  the  old  formula 
of '  Seneca  -}-  morality  =  Shakespearian  drama,'  one  cannot 
avoid  believing  that  the  old  struggle  in  the  moralities,  with 
the  stock  figures  of  Humanum  Genus  or  Everyman  beset 
by  temptations  and  befriended  by  good  angels,  must  have 
been  the  inspiring  force  in  the  development  so  marked  in 
Elizabethan  times  of  a  conflict  going  on  within  the  mind  of 
the  hero,  a  conflict  no  longer  of  force  with  force,  or  even  of 
mind  with  mind,  but  of  emotion  with  emotion,  of  thought 
with  thought.  In  the  Elizabethan  drama  appears  for  the 
first  time  the  conception  of  an  inner  struggle  moving  along- 
side of  an  outer  conflict,  the  one  mingling  with  the  other, 
both  contributing  to  the  essence  of  the  tragedy,  but  the 
former  assuming  greater  and  more  dominating  importance. 
Thus  in  Othello  we  have  the  outward  conflict  between 
Othello  and  lago,  which  takes  up  the  attention  of  the  eye  ; 
but  beyond  that  there  is  Othello's  own  mind,  and  it  is  the 
battle  that  rages  there  which  has  made  Othello  into  a  master- 
piece of  the  world's  art.  In  Hamlet,  similarly,  there  is  the 
outward  conflict  between  Hamlet  and  the  Ghost,  between 
Hamlet  and  Claudius,  but  the  real  essence  of  the  tragedy  lies 
within  the  mind  of  Hamlet  himself.  The  outward  struggle 
is  more  apparent  in  Lear  ;  but  it  vanishes  again  in  Macbeth, 
wherein  the  value  of  the  play  lies  in  the  struggle  so  clearly 
marked  within  the  mind  and  the  heart  of  the  murderous 
king. 

As  the  romantic  drama  is  not  all  of  this  type,  so  we  find 
that  the  neo-classic  dramas,  based  though  they  may  be  on 
the  older  Greek  conception,  and  misled  though  they  may 
have  been  by  classical  enthusiasm  for  the  '  fable,'  have 
nevertheless,  many  of  them,  combined  the  inward  and  the 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

outward  struggle  in  a  primitive  but  arresting  manner.  The 
Love  and  Honour  plays  of  our  own  Restoration  period  are 
but  an  extreme  example  of  a  tendency  visible  in  Racine 
and  in  Alfieri.  We  may  laugh  at  Dryden's  conception  of 
Almanzor  or  of  Montezuma,  but,  after  all,  these  characters 
are  but  simplified  and  exaggerated  examples  of  the  inner 
conflict.  It  is  not  in  species  that  they  differ  from  Othello 
and  Hamlet  ;  we  might  even  say  that  the  first  at  least  of 
these  two  Shakespearian  figures  also  displays  a  battle  between 
love  and  honour.  It  is  in  the  manner  of  the  presentation 
that  they  differ,  first  in  that  they  are  not  complex  studies, 
and  secondly  in  that  the  conflict  is  not  presented  naturally, 
but  through  the  medium  of  self-conscious  declamation  and 
oratory.  Declamation  and  oratory,  more  finely  managed 
and  made  more  probable,  mar  too  the  cognate  dramas  of 
Racine,  although  here  the  inner  struggle  often  assumes 
enthralling  forms.  If  we  take  Andromaque,  a  play  typical 
of  a  whole  school  of  French  tragedy-writing,  we  find  a 
conflict  in  the  mind  of  Andromaque,  arising  out  of  her  love 
for  her  child  and  faith  to  her  dead  husband,  a  conflict  in 
the  mind  of  Hermione,  arising  out  of  her  jealousy  toward 
Andromaque  and  love  for  Pyrrhus,  a  conflict  in  the  mind  of 
Pyrrhus,  arising  out  of  his  love  for  his  gods  and  love  for 
Andromaque,  and  a  conflict  in  the  mind  of  Oreste,  arising 
out  of  his  love  for  Hermione  and  his  hate  of  Pyrrhus. 

The  classical  or  the  neo-classic  play,  however,  must,  by 
reason  of  its  self-imposed  limitations,  present  this  inward 
struggle  only  in  a  highly  circumscribed  form.  The  romantic 
type,  because  of  the  ease  with  which  it  can  introduce  develop- 
ment of  character,  offers  larger  opportunities,  particularly 
for  the  display  of  a  conflict  derived  from  the  performance 
of  some  action.  As  was  noted  above,  a  still  further  develop- 
ment of  the  inwardness  and  of  the  inner  conflict  is  visible 
in  a  number  of  romantic  plays  of  modern  times.      In  the 

43 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAAiATIC  THEORY 

works  of  Maeterlinck  and  his  school  there  is  an  inward  and 
an  outward  conflict;  but  the  inward  conflict  is  not  the 
conflict  of  Shakespeare's  heroes.  There  is  a  struggle  here, 
not  between  love  and  honour,  not  between  two  thoughts  or 
two  emotions,  but  between  the  conscious  and  the  subcon- 
scious mind,  between  human  tics  and  the  tics  of  the  soul. 
In  Pellt'as  et  Melisande  we  have  the  outward  struggle 
between  Pelleas  and  Golaud  ;  but  that  is  of  small  import- 
ance when  placed  alongside  of  the  deeper  struggle  in  the 
soul  of  Pelleas  and  in  the  soul  of  the  husband.  The  force 
of  this  new  orientation  on  the  part  of  some  dramatists  of 
modern  days  is  well  seen  if  we  compare  this  play  of  Pelleas 
et  Melisande  with  a  play  of  similar  theme,  but  derived  from 
the  direct  Shakespearian  tradition,  Stephen  Phillips'  Paolo 
and  Francesca.  In  the  latter  tragedy  the  inwardness  is  of 
the  most  '  human  '  kind.  The  struggle  in  the  heart  of 
Paolo  is  one  of  simple  love  and  honour  ;  in  that  of  Malatesta, 
of  love  for  his  wife  and  love  for  his  brother.  The  conflict 
of  Maeterlinck  is  removed  one  stage  onward,  and  it  is 
probable,  as  we  have  seen,  that  here  as  in  other  ways  the 
theatre  is  adapting  itself  to  the  requirements  of  the  time, 
and  is  showing  itself  ready  for  expansion  to  echo  aright  the 
demands  of  the  newer  age. 

Conflict  in  Comedy. — This  principle  of  conflict  in 
tragedy  is,  as  was  pointed  out,  no  less  marked  a  feature  of 
comedy.  Here  also  the  outward  and  the  inward  struggle  is  to 
be  seen,  although  it  takes  other  forms  and  has  different  ends. 

One  of  the  commonest  and  most  obvious  sources  of 
the  comic  in  the  world  of  the  theatre  is  the  opposition 
of  an  individual  or  of  a  profession  to  society  as  a  whole. 
M.  Bergson,  in  his  entertaining  book  Le  Rire,  has  declared 
that  all  laughter  is  social  in  character  and  that  it  is  funda- 
mentally  the  reproof  of  a  particular  society  to  any  eccen- 
tricity Off  the  part  of  a  single  person  or  of  a  special  class, 
44" 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

Whether  that  view  be  accepted  or  not,  it  is  plain  that  here 
lies  one  of  the  great  and  most  commonly  utilized  media  for 
the  comic  playwright.  Satire  may  frequently  enter  in,  for 
it  is  difficult  to  exclude  satire  from  comedy,  but  the  essence 
of  the  comic  lies  in  the  implied  or  directly  stated  contrast 
and  conflict.  The  old  father  of  Terence,  the  hypocritical 
Tartuffe  of  Moliere,  the  longwinded  Polonius  of  Shake- 
speare, the  Restoration  fop  of  Congreve,  the  eighteenth- 
century  beau  of  Gibber,  the  notorious  Mrs  Malaprop  of 
Sheridan — all  these  are  set  over  against  a  world  of  normal 
society  figures.  A  world  of  Poloniuses  would  not  be 
laughable,  nor  would  a  world  of  Malaprops.  Nor  would 
these  figures  be  laughable  if  we  imagined  them  detached 
and  abstracted  from  their  environment.  The  whole  of 
our  mirth  arises  from  the  fact  that  they  are  set  in  juxta- 
position with  other  '  ordinary  '  types.  So  Polonius  becomes 
amusing  when  we  see  him  set  against  Hamlet  and  Horatio, 
Mrs  Malaprop  when  contrasted  with  Charles  Surface  and 
the  rest,  the  Restoration  fop  when  compared  with  the  fine 
cultured  gentleman  of  the  age. 

This  conflict  of  the  individual  and  of  society  is,  naturally, 
often  indistinguishable  from  a  conflict  between  two  indi- 
viduals ;  but  a  distinction  may  be  made.  We  find  often 
that  in  comedy  the  laughable  element  is  increased  by  the 
direct  opposition  of  two  eccentric  individuals  one  to  another, 
and  by  the  indirect  opposition  of  both  to  society  as  a  whole. 
Thus  Dogberry  and  Verges  are  foils  to  one  another,  although 
neither  is  comic  until  we  think  of  both  as  opposed  to  a  world 
of  normal  intelligences.  Benedick  and  Beatrice  are  similarly 
amusing,  although  in  a  different  manner,  but  both  take  their 
humorous  complexion,  so  to  speak,  from  the  presence  beside 
them  of  Claudio  on  the  one  hand  and  of  Hero  on  the  other. 

Comedy,  however,  does  not  always  depend  upon  eccen- 
tricities or  abnormalities,  and  it  would  appear  as  if  a  conflict 

45 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

between  an  individual  or  a  group  with  society  is  not  alwa^-s 
present  in  the  mind  of  the  dramatist  or  of  the  audience, 
either  directly  or  indirectly.  One  of  the  chief  motifs  of 
artistic  comedy  has  no  direct  bearing  on  this,  namely,  the 
comedy  that  arises  out  of  a  conflict  of  the  sexes.  According 
to  Meredith,  true  comedy  demands  a  certain  state  of  society 
where  men  and  women  meet  on  equal  terms,  the  laughter 
arising  out  of  the  clash  of  the  male  and  female  tempera- 
ments. Now  we  may  have  whole  series  of  tragedies  which 
depend  almost  entirely  on  heroes  alone.  Marlowe's  are 
thus  purely  masculine,  and  even  Hamlet  is  more  masculine 
than  feminine.  On  the  other  hand,  most  comedy  is  cer- 
tainly bisexual.  We  might  search  in  vain  among  the 
thousands  of  our  comedies  to  discover  one  single  play  wherein 
there  was  not  at  least  one  principal  woman  figure. ^  The 
humour  of  Tivelfth  Night,  the  gaiety  and  the  brilliance  of 
The  If'^iy  of  the  World,  the  sparkle  of  The  School  for  Scandal, 
are  all  heightened  by,  or  else  take  their  very  inspiration 
from,  the  conflict  between  tlie  minds  of  men  and  of  women. 
This  laughter  of  the  sexes,  as  we  may  style  it,  is  apparently 
one  of  the  most  primitive  emotions,  and  its  source,  as  is 
perfectly  obvious,  arises  directly  out  of  an  implied  or  stated 
antagonism.  The  man  who  is  gaily  outwitted  by  the 
woman,  as  in  Fletcher's  The  Tamer  Tam^d,  the  chiding 
woman  mastered  by  her  husband,  as  in  The  Taming  of  the 
Shrezv,  the  primitive  mate-hunt  refined  into  cultured  forms, 
of  the  woman  for  the  man,  as  in  Fletcher's  The  PFild-Goose 
Chase,  or  of  the  man  for  the  woman,  as  in  the  same  author's 
The  Scornful  Lady,  will  always  remain  stock  situations  in 
our  theatre. 

All  of  these  are  outward  conflicts,  struggles  between  an 

*  As  Meredith  has  pointed  out  in  his  essay  On  the  Idea  of  Comedy 
and  the   Uses  of  the  Comic  Spirit,  the  women   often   overshadow 
the  men.     The  typical  example  is  Millamant  in   The   Way  of  the 
World. 
46 


TRAGEDY   AND   COMEDY 

individual  and  society,  between  two  individuals,  or  between 
the  sexes.  There  is  no  hint  here  of  a  comic  inner  struggle. 
This  is  not  so  easily  developed  as  a  sense  of  inner  tragic 
conflict  and  is  but  rarely  to  be  discovered.  Comedy  more 
frequently  deals  with  simple  than  with  complex  characters, 
and  accordingly  has  not  the  means  whereby  to  suggest  a 
struggle  between  two  emotions  in  the  heart  of  the  one 
man  or  of  the  one  woman.  Where  complexity  enters  into 
comedy  there  is  usually  a  hint  either  of  the  pathetic  or 
of  the  tragic.  There  is  something  laughable  in  Shylock's 
"  My  daughter  !  O  my  ducats  !  O  my  daughter  !  "  partly 
because  of  the  incongruity  between  the  two  objects,  but 
partly  because  of  the  inner  struggle  they  reveal.  Yet 
Shylock's  words  are  not  comic  ;  they  approach  very  near 
to  the  borders  of  the  tragic.  In  the  same  way  there  is 
occasional  laughter  that  arises  from  the  words  of  Lear's 
fool,  because  these  words  reveal  in  the  mind  of  the  Fool  a 
conflict  between  profound  intelligence  and  disordered  wits. 
Here  again,  however,  the  figure  of  the  Fool  is  not  comic 
but  pathetic,  a  fitting  foil  to  Lear's  agony.  The  inner 
conflict  of  this  type,  then,  although  it  is  the  glory  of  all 
post-Elizabethan  tragedy,  will  be  found  not  fitted  for  pure 
comic  expression. 

There  is,  however,  one  type  of  inner  conflict  which 
marks  out  the  works  of  the  finest  comic  dramatists,  a  con- 
flict not  between  two  thoughts  or  two  emotions,  but  between 
two  fancies,  leading  toward  what  is  usually  known  as  esprit 
or  wit.  Wit  is  a  word  that  has  often  been  explained. 
Locke,  as  is  well  known,  has  defined  it  as  being  that  quality 
of  our  mind  that  brings  together  ideas  with  quickness  and 
variety.  Addison  adopted  Locke's  definition,  but  added 
that  wit  often  deals  not  only  with  the  congruity  of  ideas 
but  also  with  their  opposition.  Whatever  definition  we  adopt 
we  shall  find  that  wit  is  opposed  to  humour  and  to  the  absurd 

47 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

in  that  it  is  intellectual,  conscious,  artificial,  and  refined. 
It  is  conscious  and  intellectual  in  that  the  creator  of  wit, 
although  he  may  be  laughed  with,  is  never  laughed  at ;  he  is 
deliberately  saying  laughable  things.  It  is  artificial  in  that 
it  arises  not  out  of  natural  buffoonery  or  unconscious 
eccentricity.  It  is  refined  in  that  it  appears  nowhere  in 
primitive  nations,  having  been  developed  by  long  centuries 
of  intellectual  pursuits  and  of  cultured  conversation. 
Fundamentally,  wit  arises  out  of  the  conflict  of  two  ideas 
or  of  an  idea  and  an  object.  The  bon  mot  is  the  expression 
of  a  clash  between  two  several  fancies  or  ideas,  combined  for 
one  moment  together.  In  its  most  obvious  form  it  issues 
forth  as  a  pun  ;  in  its  highest  it  appears  as  a  merely  implied 
confusion  of  two  conceptions.  It  marks  an  intellectual 
acumen,  the  swift  juxtaposition  of  two  ideas  fundamentally 
inharmonious. 

It  is  this  conflict  of  fancies  that  appears  as  the  marked 
characteristic  of  modern  comedy.  It  appears  in  Shake- 
speare's plays  as  a  kind  of  effervescence  over  the  prevalent 
atmosphere  of  humour  ;  it  assumes  chief  place  in  the 
comedies  of  Congreve  and  his  companions  of  the  manners 
school.  On  this  depends  the  charm  of  The  Way  of  the  World, 
The  School  for  Scandal y  and  The  Importance  of  being  Earnest. 


(vi)  UNIVERSALITY 

So  far,  if  we  may  pause  for  a  moment  to  summarize  our 
results,  we  have  found  that  conflict  is  the  prime  force  in  all 
drama  ;  that  an  outward  conflict  is  what  appeals  most  in 
the  theatre  ;  and  that  an  inward  conflict  appeals  most  in 
the  study.  A  play  will  be  great  as  a  piece  of  literature  only 
when  it  leaves  the  borders  of  farce  on  the  one  hand  and  of 
melodrama  on  the  other  ;  it  will  be  a  great  stage  and  literary 
success  only  when  it  combines  the  two  characteristics. 
48 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

We  may  have,  however,  a  tragedy  or  a  comedy  wherein 
character  is  deeply  stressed  and  the  inward  is  consciously 
or  unconsciously  marked,  and  which  yet  may  not  be  a  great 
literary  triumph.  It  may  be  laid  down  as  an  axiom  that 
beyond  the  characterization  and  the  inwardness  there  must 
go  some  general  atmosphere  or  spirit  which,  as  it  were, 
enwraps  the  whole  development  of  the  '  fable  '  and  tinges 
the  characters  with  a  peculiar  and  dominating  hue.  This 
spirit  or  atmosphere  I  shall  call  universality. 

Let  us  again  turn  from  abstract  theories  to  concrete 
examples.  Let  us  take  the  anonymous  Elizabethan  tragedy 
of  Arden  of  Feversham.  This  is  a  well-conceived  and  a 
well-penned  drama  :  the  very  fact  that  it  has  been  attributed 
to  Shakespeare  proves  that.  Not  only  is  the  dialogue  ex- 
cellent, but  the  construction  is  balanced  and  harmonious, 
and  the  characters  are  delineated  in  a  manner  reached  by 
but  few  of  the  Elizabethan  playwrights.  We  cannot  deny 
that  the  play  is  a  good  one  ;  and  yet,  when  we  place  it  along- 
side of  Hamlet  or  Leor  or  Macbeth,  we  feel  not  only  that 
it  is  not  as  great  as  these,  but  that  it  does  not  stand  in  the 
same  class  of  dramatic  productivity.  Hamlet  and  Lear  and 
Macbeth,  we  say,  are  high  tragedies  :  Arden  of  Feversham 
is  merely  a  serious  drama.  There  is  evidently  something 
lacking  in  the  play,  but  it  is  nothing  directly  concerned  with 
plot,  diction,  or  character.  What  precisely  is  it  that  con- 
stitutes its  failure  ?  Or,  conversely,  what  is  it,  lacking  in 
Arden  of  Feversham,  which  makes  Shakespeare's  plays  great  ? 
Arden  of  Feversham  is  a  domestic  tragedy  :  it  is  merely  a 
dramatized  ballad  telling  of  a  husband  murdered  by  his  wife 
and  her  lover.  It  is  a  domestic  play,  but  domestic  plays 
are  not  necessarily  to  be  ruled  out  of  the  realms  of  high 
tragedy  ;  most  of  Ibsen's  dramas  rise  to  a  height  approach- 
ing the  masterpieces  of  Shakespeare  ;  so  does  Otway's 
The  Orphan  and  Heywood's  A  Woman  Killed  with  Kindness. 

D  49 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

When  we  come  to  look  deeper  we  see  that  the  real  cause  of 
failure  does  not  lie  in  the  subject  but  in  the  treatment  of  the 
subject.  Arden  of  Feversham  deals  with  an  independent 
and  isolated  event,  and  we  call  it  sordid,  as  we  would  call  a 
similar  newspaper  account  of  some  recent  murder  sordid. 
The  emotion  implied  by  this  adjective  cannot  perhaps  be 
very  well  defined  accurately,  but  it  signifies  at  any  rate  that 
the  reader  of  the  play  or  of  the  newspaper  paragraph  has 
not  been  thrilled  by  what  has  been  put  before  him.  The 
account  seems  bald  and  bare,  uninformed  by  any  broader 
and  higher  significance.  There  is,  to  use  the  word  with 
which  we  started,  no  universality  in  it.  There  is  uni- 
versality in  Hamlet  \  there  is  universality  in  Othello,  which 
deals,  we  may  note,  with  a  theme  somewhat  similar  to  that 
of  Arden  of  Feversham ;  there  is  universality  in  Venice 
Preserved  and  in  A  DoWs  House  and  in  Rosmersholm.^  It 
is  a  spirit  of  universality  that  marks  out  every  great  drama, 
no  matter  when  or  where  that  drama  was  produced.  In 
what  this  universality  consists  and  how  it  is  attained  may  be 
fittingly  left  to  our  more  precise  investigation  of  the  nature 
of  tragedy  itself. 

Universality  of  a  kind  will  also  be  found  to  mark  out 
fine  comedy.  There  is  a  sense  in  all  great  comedy,  as  there 
is  in  all  great  tragedy,  that  the  events  and  the  characters 
are  not  isolated.  They  are  related  in  some  way  or  another 
to  the  world  of  ordinary  life.  In  the  Tartuffes  and  the 
Bobadills  and  the  Dogberrys  of  fine  comedy  we  see,  as  it 
were,  abstracts  of  mankind  ;  there  is  nothing  particular 
or  isolated  about  them.  If,  however,  we  find  in  a  comedy 
a  person  such  as  Dryden's  Bibber,  in  The  Wild  Gallant, 
we  have  a  feeling  that  that  person  is  independent,  that  he  is 

*  I  do  not  here  intend  to  suggest  that  Otway,  Heywood,  and 
Ibsen  are  as  great  dramatists  as  Shakespeare,  but  merely  that 
their  finest  plays  belong  to  the  same  class  of  dramatic  produc- 
tivity. 

50 


TRAGEDY  AND  COMEDY 

not  connected  with  other  figures,  that  he  is  a  unique  speci- 
men of  a  particular  madness.  Extraordinary  eccentricity- 
is  not  truly  laughable  in  a  comedy  :  that  which  is  risible  is 
the  fashions,  the  manners,  the  professions,  the  classes  of 
mankind.  Universality  is  demanded  here  as  it  is  demanded 
in  tragedy. 

In  a  consideration  of  this  universality  in  both  comedy 
and  tragedy,  Aristotle's  remarks  on  certain  characteristics 
of  drama  ought  not  to  be  neglected.  In  his  Poetics  he 
pleads  that  high  tragedy  has  a  certain  idealizing  power, 
and  that  there  is  a  generalizing  element  in  all  fine  comedy. 
"  The  poet  and  the  historian,"  he  declares,  "  differ  not  by 
writing  in  verse  or  in  prose.  The  work  of  Herodotus 
might  be  put  into  verse,  and  it  would  still  be  a  species  of 
history,  with  metre  no  less  than  without  it.  The  true 
difference  is  that  one  relates  what  has  happened,  the  other 
what  may  happen.  Poetry,  therefore,  is  a  more  philo- 
sophical and  a  higher  thing  than  history  [hio  koL  (pCko- 
<TO(f)coTepov  Kot  airovSatoTepov  Trolrjcn'^  lcnopia<i  eariv]'. 
for  poetry  tends  to  express  the  universal  [ra  kuOoXov], 
history  the  particular."  ^  It  is  evident  that  these  words 
of  Aristotle  have  more  than  a  little  in  common  with  the 
plea  for  universality  in  drama  put  forward  in  the  preceding 
pages  and  discussed  at  greater  length  in  those  following. 
At  the  same  time,  Aristotle's  t^  kuOoXov  does  not  go 
far  beyond  the  general  spirit  of  a  piece  of  art  :  it  does  not 
seem  to  take  into  account  the  many  and  diverse  means  by 
which  the  dramatists  and  the  poets  have  secured  their  effect 
of  universality.  Arden  of  Feversham,  certainly,  to  refer 
again  to  a  concrete  instance,  would  fall  under  Aristotle's 
heading  of  '  history,'  as  being  merely  a  more  or  less  faithful 

^  On  the  universality  of  Greek  literature  and  on  the  exact  signi- 
fication of  Aristotle's  words  Butcher's  Aristotle's  Theory  of  Poetry 
and  Fine  Art  should  be  consulted. 

51 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

retelling  in  dramatic  form  of  an  actual  occurrence ;  but 
nowhere  does  Aristotle  analyse  in  detail  the  characteristics 
of  those  dramas  which,  in  his  judgment,  rise  above  the 
'  historical '  plane  to  that  of  the  '  more  philosophical ' 
poetry.  In  the  following  pages,  therefore,  the  treatment 
of  tragedy  has  frequently  had  to  be  carried  along  lines  no- 
where mapped  out  by  the  Greek  critic,  and  as  a  consequence 
we  must  note  that,  although  his  ra  KaOokov  is  ever  with 
us,  yet  for  detail  and  for  the  estimating  of  particular  means 
and  effects,  except  perhaps  where  he  speaks  about  the  nature 
of  the  tragic  hero,  he  has  left  us  in  his  work  no  guiding  clues. 


Sa 


II 

TRAGEDY 

(i)  UNIVERSALITY  IN  TRAGEDY 

IN  passing  from  the  more  general  consideration  of 
the  main  characteristics  of  the  higher  types  of  drama 
to  a  more  detailed  analysis  of  tragedy  and  of  comedy 
in  particular,  it  will  be  necessary,  even  at  the  risk  of  some 
repetition,  to  cover  some  of  the  ground  already  traversed, 
in  an  endeavour  to  investigate  the  methods  and  the  styles 
of  the  various  dramatists.  As  the  question  of  universality 
is,  as  has  been  shown,  one  of  paramount  importance  in 
any  study  of  tragedy,  it  may  form  the  groundwork  of  this 
analysis. 

The  Importance  of  the  Hero. — We  have  already 
seen  that  universality  is  an  absolutely  necessary  element 
in  every  great  tragedy.  The  question  now  arises  as  to  how 
and  by  what  particular  methods  it  has  been  achieved  by 
dramatists  ancient,  Elizabethan,  and  modern.  Is  it  arrived 
at  externally,  is  it  instinct  in  the  conception  of  character, 
or  is  it  attained  both  from  within  and  from  without .? 

Here  there  is  space  only  for  a  few  considerations  and 
suggestions. 

We  may  well  start  our  investigation  by  quoting  a  few 
words  of  Aristotle.  The  tragic  hero,  he  states,  "  should  be 
some  one  of  high  fame  and  flourishing  prosperity."  High 
fame  and  flourishing  prosperity  are  phrases  not  exactly 
synonymous  with  kingship,  but  sufficiently  close  to  it  to 
make  Aristotle  responsible  for  all  the  later  neo-classic  dicta 
concerning   the  illustrious  nature  of  the  hero  of  tragedy. 

53 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Where  this  subject  of  illustriousness  is  not  dealt  with  by  any 
later  classical  critic,  we  may  assume  that  it  was  so  much 
taken  for  granted  that  nothing  needed  to  be  said  of  it.  For 
the  Greeks  domestic  tragedy  would  have  been  impossible ; 
for  the  Augustans  it  was  anathema. 

Not  only  classical  precept,  however,  demanded  a  monarch 
or  an  illustrious  person  for  a  tragic  hero.  In  medieval  days 
it  was  tacitly  assumed  that  all  tragedy  dealt  with  kings  and 
with  princes,  an  assumption  arrived  at  independently  of 
Aristotle  and  his  followers.     Chaucer's  Monk  says  : 

Tragedie  is  to  seyn  a  certeyn  storie, 
As  olde  bokes  maken  us  memorie, 
Of  him  that  stood  in  greet  prosperitee 
And  is  y-fallen  out  of  heigh  degree 
Into  miserie,  and  endeth  wrecchedly.i 

And  the  stories  that  he  tells  deal  almost  entirely  with 
earthly  potentates,  save  for  a  few  Biblical  and  mythological 
personages. 

The  conception  of  tragedy  as  the  falling  from  prosperity 
into  misery  and  wretchedness  we  shall  consider  in  greater 
detail  hereafter ;  for  the  moment  let  us  concern  ourselves 
solely  with  this  view  of  the  tragic  hero,  a  view  shared 
by  the  classical  and  by  the  medieval  tradition  alike.  When 
we  consider  this  view  in  the  light  of  the  spirit  of  universality 
it  is  evident  that  here  we  have  one  of  the  crudest,  although 
at  the  same  time  one  of  the  commonest,  methods  of  securing 
some  atmosphere  that  goes  beyond  the  mere  figures  presented 
on  the  stage.  The  presence  of  a  person  of  prominence  as 
a  hero  gives  the  sense  that  more  is  involved  than  is  apparent 
on  the  surface.     In  the  times  when  kingship  meant  more 

^  It  should  be  noted  here  that  as  drama  was  largely  non-existent 
in  the  medieval  world,  except  in  the  shape  of  the  mysteries, 
'  tragedy  '  means  for  Chaucer  merely  tragic  tales  such  as  his  Monk 
puts  forward. 

54 


TRAGEDY 

than  it  does  to-day  (at  least  for  the  majority  of  Western 
nations),  men  saw  in  the  monarch-hero  not  merely  an 
individual  in  the  pangs  of  misery  and  despair,  but  a  symbol 
of  the  whole  fate  of  a  kingdom.  In  modern  days,  of  course, 
this  method  of  securing  universality  is  of  no  avail.  Having 
lost  all  respect  for  kings,  living  as  we  do  in  lands  where 
democracy  reigns  in  fact  if  not  always  in  theory,  we  have 
abandoned  this  idea  that  a  king's  fortunes  are  necessarily 
bound  up  with  the  fortunes  of  his  subjects.  It  is  futile 
now ;  at  its  best  it  was  perhaps  but  a  feeble  way  out  of  a 
difficulty ;  but  for  the  age  of  classical  Greece  and  for  the 
medieval  world  it  was  a  thoroughly  legitimate  method  of 
gaining  this  end.  In  Elizabethan  days  its  power  and  its 
value  were  already  fading.  The  appearance  of  Arden  of 
Feversham  and  of  ^  Woman  Killed  with  Kindness  in  the  late 
sixteenth  and  early  seventeenth  centuries  may  be  regarded 
as  the  attempts  of  unconscious  revolutionaries  to  overthrow 
the  old  conventions,  to  express  something  more  in  keeping 
with  a  newer  age.  Those  plays  are  to  be  associated  with 
the  gradual  rise  of  parliamentary  control  and  the  emergence 
of  the  middle  classes,  just  as  Lillo's  The  London  Merchant y 
which  was  actually  as  revolutionary  as  the  Jacobins,  is  to 
be  looked  at  from  the  point  of  view  of  that  rapidly  changing 
English  society  of  the  mid-eighteenth  century. 

While  we  recognize,  however,  that  the  presence  of  the 
monarch-hero  as  a  means  of  securing  universality  is  now 
impossible,  and  that  even  in  Elizabethan  times  the  convention 
was  becoming  threadbare,  we  must  remember  that  if  we 
abandon  such  themes  of  "  fitting  magnitude  "  then  some- 
thing must  be  introduced  which  may  take  the  place  of  that 
emotion  which  the  fall  of  a  king  or  of  a  prince  aroused  in 
earlier  days.  There  is  the  warning  of  Arden  of  Feversham 
ever  before  us.  The  theme  of  this  play  is  '  lowered  '  from 
the  seventeenth-century  point  of  view,  and  nothing  is  given 

55 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

in  compensation.     Herein,  we  shall  find,  lies  one  of  the 
main  difiiculties  of  the  domestic  drama. 

Introduction  of  the  Supernatural. — It  must  not  be 
supposed,  of  course,  that  the  introduction  of  a  royal  hero 
was  the  sole  method  employed  by  the  ancient  dramatists 
to  secure  universality.  There  are  many  others,  not  men- 
tioned by  Aristotle,  but  figuring  in  plays  Greek  as  well 
as  English.  Of  these  probably  the  most  potent  is  the 
direct  presentation  of  some  force  that  is  extra-human,  a 
force  that  at  once  serves  as  a  fairly  powerful  means  of 
obtaining  an  atmosphere  broader  than  the  mere  individual 
events  enacted  upon  the  stage,  and  of  providing  some 
emotion  of  awe  which,  it  will  be  found,  is  one  of  the  prime 
essentials  of  tragedy.  If  we  take  the  famous  trilogy  of 
yEschylus — Agamemnon,  Choephorce,  and  Eumenides — we 
discover  that  part  at  least  of  the  spirit  of  these  plays  comes 
from  the  sense  of  the  supernatural,  presented  not  only  visibly 
but  by  intellectual  suggestion.  The  Furies  enter  upon 
the  stage  in  person  ;  the  ghost  of  Clytemnestra  rises  and 
addresses  the  audience ;  and,  over  and  above  these,  there 
is  a  vast  indefinite  background  of  fate.  A  whole  house  is 
doomed.  Disaster,  misery,  crime  follow  on  the  footsteps  of 
its  every  scion.  No  one  can  escape ;  the  curse  lies  beyond 
the  power  and  control  of  the  particular  actors.  Imme- 
diately, by  this  means,  an  otherwise  'sordid'  story  of  murder 
and  revenge  has  been  carried  to  higher  levels,  and  assumes 
at  once  a  peculiar  significance  of  its  own. 

There  appear,  naturally,  many  divergent  means  of  intro- 
ducing this  supernatural  in  tragedy,  stretching  from  the  crude 
presentation  of  a  ghostly  figure  to  the  merest  suggestion  of 
an  indefinable  atmosphere  where  nothing  is  dogmatically 
stated,  but  where  vague  hints,  half-visionary  floating  wisps 
of  thought  and  feeling,  are  cast  before  the  spectators.  The 
introduction  of  a  god  into  a  play  is  the  most  simple  of  all, 
56 


TRAGEDY 

but  this,  as  is  perfectly  obvious,  was  possible  only  in  the 
dramas  of  Greece  and  in  the  primitive  mysteries  of  medieval 
Europe.  In  Elizabethan  plays,  as  in  the  modern  theatre, 
the  presence  of  a  heavenly  visitant  is  almost  always  im- 
possible. The  failure  of  Fletcher's  Cupid's  Revenge  is  due 
entirely  to  the  insertion  of  the  God  of  Love  in  human  shape 
persecuting  the  mortal  figures  around  him.  There  is  at 
once  something  crude  and  incongruous  in  his  presence.  We 
have  lost  the  religion  that  might  have  made  possible  for  us 
his  interference  in  the  development  of  the  plot,  and  we  have 
lost  the  medieval  naivete  that  might  have  acquiesced  in  his 
appearance.  More  delicate  use  of  heavenly  agents  may 
perhaps  be  found  in  the  angels  of  Massinger  and  Dekker's 
The  Virgin  Martyr  or  in  the  disguised  spirits  of  Yeats' 
Countess  Cathleen  ;  but  for  the  most  part  the  introduction 
of  heavenly  or  diabolic  forces  in  modern  drama  must  be 
abnormal  and  unsuited  to  the  tastes  and  beliefs  of  the 
age.  Ghosts,  on  the  contrary,  dominated  the  Elizabethan 
as  they  dominated  the  Greek  stage.  They  were  accepted 
by  the  spectators  with  a  kind  of  awed  wonder.  They  were 
dramatically  true  in  those  days ;  and  even  in  this  twentieth 
century  there  are  some  among  us  who  have  not  abandoned 
faith  in  their  reality  and  their  power.  In  i^schylus,  as 
we  have  seen,  they  made  their  early  appearance.  They 
were  taken  over  by  Euripides,  and  especially  developed  by 
him  as  spirits,  symbols,  and  even  instruments  of  revenge. 
Seneca  seized  upon  them,  and  thence  they  passed  over  to 
Kyd  and  to  the  Elizabethan  theatre  generally.  The  ghost 
of  Hamlet's  father  is  therefore  the  direct  descendant,  with  a 
clearly  traceable  genealogy,  of  the  ghost  of  Clytemnestra 
in  the  Eumenides. 

It  will  at  once  be  observed  that  the  dramatic  force  of  the 
ghost,  just  as  that  of  the  monarch-hero,  will  depend  largely 
upon  the  faith  of  the  audience.      If  a  ghost  be  put  forward 

57 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

as  an  integral  part  of  a  serious  play,  in  propria  persona,  a 
touch  of  cynicism  or  of  active  disbelief  will  kill  at  once 
the  particular  mood  which  it  is  the  business  of  tragedy  to 
call  forth  in  us.  This  truth  apparently  was  realized,  prob- 
ably unconsciously,  by  Shakespeare,  and  his  example  is  so 
important  that  perhaps  a  moment  may  be  spent  here  in  con- 
sidering his  special  treatment  of  this  theme.  The  Greek 
ghosts  were  for  the  most  part  ordinary  supernatural  visitants, 
which,  though  connected  with  the  lives  and  the  actions  of 
the  dramatis  persona,  were  fundamentally  separated  from 
them.  With  Shakespeare  the  supernatural  is  always  related 
to  the  thoughts  and  the  ideas  of  at  least  one  living  tragic 
character.  Hamlet  will  serve  as  an  example.  In  this  play 
the  prince  is  made  to  have  his  suspicions  of  the  murder  of 
his  father  before  ever  he  sees  the  spirit.  "  I  doubt  some  foul 
play,"  are  his  words  at  the  close  of  Act  I,  Scene  ii.  "  O 
my  prophetic  soul  !  "  he  cries  on  hearing  the  truth  from 
the  immaterial  lips  of  his  sire  (Act  I,  Scene  v).  The  ghost 
in  Hamlet  is  the  crudest  of  all  Shakespeare's  'ghosts,  and 
yet  how  wonderfully  it  is  suggested,  and  how  far  Shakespeare 
has  escaped  the  difficulties  presented  by  dogmatic  introduction 
of  the  supernatural  in  an  age  of  doubt  and  of  speculation, 
may  well  be  seen  when  we  compare  the  ghost  of  Hamlet 
with  the  ghost  of  Andrea  in  The  Spanish  Tragedy.  In  the 
latter  there  is  no  preparation  made  for  the  spirit's  appearance. 
It  is  thrust  forward  on  to  the  stage  at  the  start,  and  its  \cry 
crudeness  must  startle  and  disappoint  not  only  those  who, 
in  Jonson's  words,  are  "  somewhat  costive  of  belief,"  but 
those  who  firmly  believe  in  these  visitants  from  another 
world. 

It  may  be  noted  furtlier  that  Shakespeare  not  only  thus 
suggests,  in  the  words  of  the  hero,  this  connexion  between 
the  personality  of  Hamlet  and  the  ghost  itself,  but  in 
other  ways  tends  to  mitigate  the  crude  appearance  of  the 
58 


TRAGEDY 

supernatural.  The  ghost  in  Hamlet  is  not  wholly  visible. 
Bernardo  and  Marcellus,  certainly,  see  it ;  but  to  Hamlet's 
mother  it  is  but  as  air,  a  mere  hallucination  in  the  mind 
of  her  son.  It  speaks,  but  it  speaks  only  to  him.  It  is 
materialized,  and  yet  there  is  always  the  faint  hint  that, 
after  all,  it  is  connected  with  Hamlet's  personality.  The 
eternal  elusiveness  of  Shakespeare  is  operating  here.  His 
suggestiveness  is  the  suggestiveness  of  genius. 

Not  any  of  Shakespeare's  other  ghosts  are  so  corporeal 
as  this  of  the  "  royal  Dane."  Banquo's  spirit  is  more 
immaterial.  It  rises  on  the  stage,  but  it  is  Macbeth  alone 
who  sees  it.  It  is,  if  not  wholly,  at  least  partially,  a  creation 
of  his  own  mind  :  or  rather,  we  cannot  tell  from  it  whether 
Shakespeare  really  intended  it  to  be  an  independent  creation 
or  not.  As  with  the  ghost  of  Hamlet's  father,  so  with 
the  witches  in  this  play  of  Macbeth,  figures  only  partly  con- 
nected with  forces  outside  of  physical  nature,  we  have  a 
sense  of  kinship  between  the  supernatural  and  the  emotions 
of  the  hero.  Their  thoughts  and  their  words  attune  them- 
selves to,  and  harmonize  with,  the  thoughts  of  Aiacbeth. 
"  Fair  is  foul,  and  foul  is  fair,"  is  their  cry  in  the  first 
scene  of  the  play ;  and  Macbeth's  "  So  foul  and  fair 
a  day  I  have  not  seen  "  on  his  first  entry  is  an  echo  sym- 
bolically conceived. 

Good  sir,  why  do  you  start,  and  seem  to  fear 
Things  that  do  sound  so  fair  .'' 

inquires  Banquo  after  the  triple  prophecy,  revealing  in  his 
surprise  the  state  of  Macbeth's  soul,  which  had  but  responded 
to  the  utterance  of  his  unspoken  dreams.  The  thane  is 
"  rapt  withal,"  rapt  in  the  thoughts  that  rise  within  him, 
thoughts  of  kingship  and  of  murder.  The  letter  that  he 
sends  to  his  wife  displays  clearly  enough  the  fact  that  the 
sinning  pair  had  discussed  the  matter  in  days  long  before  the 

59 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

witches  had  appeared  to  him  on  the  heath.  These  witches, 
therefore,  are  in  part  corporeal,  in  part  supernatural,  in  part 
the  personified  temptations  of  Macbeth  himself.  There  is 
the  sense  that  we  are  in  touch  with  infinite,  indefinable, 
and  intangible  forces  of  the  universe  ;  and  yet  there  remains 
a  doubt.  The  subtlety  of  Shakespeare  disarms  our  pre- 
conception, whether  that  preconception  be  of  belief  or  of 
disbelief. 

The  Sense  of  Fate. — The  ghost,  however,  even  when 
treated  with  the  genius  of  a  Shakespeare,  will  always  remain 
a  somewhat  crude  method  of  introducing  the  supernatural. 
Much  more  effective  probably  and  more  refined  is  the  general 
sense  of  fate  which  is  presented  in  a  number  of  tragedies 
both  ancient  and  modern.  In  a  drama  such  as  CEdipus 
Tyrannus  we  feel  that  there  is  something  which  constantly 
baffles  human  effort.  Fate  appears  above  the  stage  like  a 
fourth  actor,  playing  a  principal  part,  cheating,  deceiving, 
betraying,  watching  with  a  grim  smile  the  blundering  actions 
of  the  miserable  king.  With  Shakespeare  again  this  sense 
of  fate  in  tragedy  reappears,  although  once  more  in  a  modified 
form.  The  only  drama  of  his  in  which  it  is  deeply  to  be 
felt  is  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  this  play  is  separated  in  many 
respects  from  the  other  great  tragedies. 

There  are  two  points  which  might  here  be  noted.  First, 
Shakespeare  presents  to  us  in  this  and  in  his  other  dramas 
both  chance,  or  luck,  and  fate.  With  chance  there  is  barely 
a  sense  of  an  outer-world  power  governing  our  actions, 
although  that  sense  may  be  hinted  at,  vaguely  and  in  hesi- 
tating accents  ;  with  fate,  however,  there  is  a  direct  assump- 
tion that  a  conscious  or  unconscious  supernatural  agent  is 
guiding  and  shaping  our  actions.  In  Romeo  and  Juliet,  as 
we  have  seen,  the  latter  idea  of  fate  is  expressed.  The  lovers 
are  "  ill-starred  "  from  the  very  beginning.  Juliet  has  her 
premonitory  vision  of  ill-fortune.  Romeo's  words  of  hope 
60 


TRAGEDY 

at  the  opening  of  Act  V  are  shattered  and  transformed  as  if 
some  leering  immaterial  being  had  heard  them  and  were 
jesting  with  his  miserable  puppet  below.  In  the  other 
tragedies  Shakespeare  appears  usually  to  have  preferred  to 
imply  simply  chance.  It  was  chance  that  led  to  Hamlet's 
boarding  the  pirate  sloop  ;  it  was  chance  that  made  Duncan 
come  to  Macbeth  ;  it  was  chance  that  brought  Bianca  in 
with  the  handkerchief  when  Othello  was  eavesdropping. 
Fate,  direct  fate,  occurs  only  in  the  one  early  play.^ 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  very  noticeable,  particularly  as 
according  with  his  usual  habit  of  suggestion  and  with  his 
own  elusive  attitude  toward  matters  of  doubt,  that  Shake- 
speare has  frequently  intensified  the  fatal  as  opposed  to  the 
chance  sense  of  his  tragedies  by  the  introduction  of  some 
conversation  between  his  characters  on  supernatural  themes 
and  on  the  influence  of  the  heavenly  bodies  upon  human 
action.  This  conversation  on  starry  influence,  however,  is 
inconclusive  in  the  sense  that  it  tells  us  nothing  of  Shake- 
speare's own  attitude.  "  This  is  the  excellent  foppery  of 
the  world,"  sneers  Edmund,  "  that  when  we  are  sick  in 
fortune,  often  the  surfeit  of  our  own  behaviour,  we  make 
guilty  of  our  disasters  the  sun,  the  moon,  and  the  stars." 
In  the  same  play  Kent,  uninformed  of  Edmund's  words, 

says, 

It  is  the  stars, 
The  stars  above  us,  govern  our  conditions. 

In  other  tragedies  characters  such  as  lago  with  his  "  It  is 
in  ourselves  that  we  are  thus  and  thus  "  echo  the  words  of 
Edmund,  while  others  repeat  in  diff"erent  forms  the  beliefs 
of  Kent.  It  has  been  already  noted  by  Professor  Bradley 
that  Shakespeare  puts  all  his  anti-fate  speeches  into  the 
mouths  of  his  bad  characters,  Edmund  and  lago  in  particular; 

*  On  Shakespeare's  use  of  Fortune  Dr  Smart's  essay  on  Tragedy 
should  be  consulted. 

6i 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

but  the  converse  to  that  has  hardly  been  observed.  It  is 
true  that  these  speeches  are  put  into  the  mouths  of  evil 
persons,  but  those  evil  persons  are  clever  and  mentally  alert ; 
whereas  the  belief  in  fate  and  in  starry  influence  is  all  in  the 
mouths  of  good,  honest  people,  who  are,  however,  like  Kent, 
usually  stupid  and  unintellectual.  Shakespeare  again  takes 
up  an  attitude  neither  approving  nor  disapproving.  He 
utilizes  the  sense  of  fate,  but  never  employs  any  direct 
intervention  in  human  affairs  on  the  part  of  the  gods,  nor 
deliberately  enunciates  a  belief  in  supernatural  influence. 
Even  his  use  of  chance  is  incidental.  Except  in  Romeo  and 
Juliet  it  never  operates  on  the  main  plot  of  a  play  so  as 
to  bring  about  the  catastrophe.  That  Hamlet  was  brought 
back  to  Denmark  was  a  piece  of  chance,  but  the  death- 
covered  stage  at  the  close  of  the  play  arose  out  of  no  chance  ; 
it  was  the  direct  result  of  the  queen's  indecision  and  weak- 
ness, of  the  king's  duplicity,  of  Laertes'  hate,  and  of  Hamlet's 
loss  of  all  care  and  interest  in  life. 

Tragic  Irony, — Besides  these  methods  of  securing  a 
sense  of  supernatural  forces  above  and  beyond  the  drama 
enacted  upon  the  stage,  there  are  many  others,  probably  less 
tangible  and  less  immediately  apparent,  yet  none  the  less 
effective.  The  simple  use  of  tragic  irony  really  presupposes, 
or  at  any  rate  hints  vaguely  at,  a  force  outside  human  ken. 
With  the  Greeks  tragic  irony  was  truly  the  warping  by  the 
gods  of  a  speech  or  a  promise  of  one  of  the  dramatis  persona 
in  a  drama.  This  device  is  used  but  sparingly  by  Shakespeare, 
for  it  demands  the  assumption  of  a  conscious  fatal  power 
in  the  universe — an  assumption  which,  as  we  have  seen, 
Shakespeare  was  not  prepared  to  admit.  The  dramatic 
irony  which  arises  out  of  theatrical  circumstances  is  common 
in  his  works,  but  the  deeper,  more  pagan,  irony  is  largely 
absent.  Minor  supernatural  effects,  however,  almost  always 
introduced  by  narration,  he  employs  constantly.  We  hear 
62 


TRAGEDY 

of  the  dead  gibbering  in  the  streets  of  Rome  after  Caesar's 
fall;  we  are  told  of  horses  going  mad  in  Af<7fi^^M.  Yet  here 
again  the  sense  of  the  supernatural  is  only  partial. 

The  night  has  been  unruly  ;  where  we  lay, 

Our  chimneys  were  blown  down,  and,  as  they  say, 

Lamentings  heard  i'  the  air,  strange  screams  of  death, 

And  prophesying  with  accents  terrible 

Of  dire  combustion  and  confused  events 

New  hatch'd  to  the  woful  time  :   the  obscure  bird 

Clamour'd  the  livelong  night  :  some  say,  the  earth 

Was  feverous  and  did  shake.  .  .  .  i 

So  we  are  told  ;  but  we  cannot  be  sure  that  Lennox  is  not 
mistaken.  The  supernatural  events  are  given  in  hearsay, 
not  in  reality.  It  is  noticeable  in  this  speech  that  not  only 
are  the  strange  events  'not  introduced  upon  the  stage,  but 
those  which  are  most  peculiar,  the  lamentings  in  the  air 
and  the  shaking  of  the  earth,  are  prefaced  by  Lennox  himself 
with  the  qualifying  phrase  "  as  they  say."  All  he  avers  he 
has  seen  or  heard  is  the  fall  of  chimneys  and  the  hooting  of 
the  owl.  Somewhat  of  the  same  nature  is  Casca's  account 
of  the  prodigies  witnessed  before  the  death  of  Caesar.^ 
He  himself  has  certainly  seen  "  a  tempest  dropping  fire," 
a  slave  whose  hand  was  burning,  a  lion  which  "  went  surly 
by,"  but  the  "  men  all  in  fire  "  that  walked  "  up  and  down 
the  streets  "  were  viewed,  not  by  him,  but  only  by  a  group 
of  terror-stricken  women. 

Pathetic  Fallacy. — These  last  quotations  from  Julius 
Casar  and  from  Macbeth  also  illustrate  one  other  minor 
method  of  inducing  a  supernatural  or  semi-supernatural 
effect,  a  method  employed  most  largely  by  Shakespeare. 
In  his  tragedies,  and  even  in  his  comedies,  there  is  utilized 
what  may  be  styled  a  kind  of  pathetic  fallacy,  or  rather, 

1  Macbeth,  Act  II,  Scene  iii. 

*  Julius  Ccesar,  Act  I,  Scene  in. 

63 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

perhaps,  a  species  of  natural  symbolism.  It  is  apparent  in  a 
slight  way  in  Portia's  "  It  is  almost  morning,"  in  the  last 
act  of  The  Merchant  of  Venice.  More  clearly  is  it  to  be 
found  in  the  words  of  Pedro  in  the  last  act  of  Much  Ado 
about  Nothing : 

Good  morrow,  masters ;   put  your  torches  out : 

The  wolves  have  prey'd  ;   and  look,  the  gentle  day, 

Before  the  wheels  of  Pha'bus,  round  about 
Dapples  the  drowsy  east  with  spots  of  grey. 

It  is  evident  in  the  darkness  and  the  gloom  of  the  castle  in 
which  Duncan  is  murdered,  and  in  the  s«"orm  scenes  of  Leary 
where  the  lashing  hail  and  the  driving  wind  seem  to  sympa- 
thize with  the  aged  king,  the  tempest  outside  symbolizing  in 
a  way  the  tempest  of  madness  in  his  own  brain.  This  natural 
symbolism  has,  of  course,  been  used  by  other  dramatic  poets, 
ancient  and  modern,  but  not  to  the  extent  in  which  it  appears 
in  Shakespeare's  dramas.  The  most  marked  example  from 
the  Greek  stage  is  in  the  background  of  Sophocles'  almost 
romantic  tragedy  of  Philoctetes. 

The  Sub-plot. — The  presence  of  the  monarch-hero  and 
the  use  of  the  supernatural  in  one  of  its  many  forms  are,  as 
we  have  seen,  two  of  the  most  frequent  means  of  securing 
a  feeling  of  universality  employed  by  the  Greek  and  by  the 
Elizabethan  playwrights.  We  may  pass  now  to  consider  a 
fairly  common  romantic  expedient,  denied,  because  of  the 
restrictions  of  their  stage,  to  the  ancients.  This  is  the  use 
of  the  sub-plot.  To  counter  the  sense  of  individuality  and 
of  detached  tragic  spirit  which  is  raised  by  the  presence  in 
all  great  dramas  of  an  outstanding  personality  for  the  hero, 
the  Elizabethans,  and  Shakespeare  in  particular,  frequently 
made  the  sub-plot  a  duplication  or  an  explanation  of  the 
main  theme  of  the  play.  Thus  Lear's  circumstances  and 
fate  are  not  solitary  and  detached.  He  is  driven  out  by  the 
64 


TRAGEDY 

daughters  who  professed  to  love  him,  and  is  cared  for  by  the 
daughter  his  own  folly  had  driven  away.  In  exactly  similar 
manner  Gloucester  is  cheated  and  betrayed  by  his  loved 
son  Edmund,  while  Edgar,  whom  he  has  injured,  joins 
him  in  his  misery  and  relieves  his  cares.  This  parallel  so 
apparent  in  the  sub-plot,  and  evidently  introduced  for  a 
conscious  purpose,  gives  the  sense  that  the  ill-treatment  of 
Lear  is  no  isolated  thing  :  it  is  reflected  elsewhere  in  the 
position  of  Gloucester,  and,  seeing  this,  we  are  led  uncon- 
sciously to  believe  that  it  may  have  a  much  broader  and  wider 
significance.  So  too  in  Macbeth  Banquo  is  assailed  by 
temptations  similar  to  those  which  had  drawn  the  king  to 
murder  and  to  a  life  of  crime.  "  Hush  !  no  more,"  he  says 
at  the  beginning  of  Act  III,  his  evil  thoughts  dwelling 
upon  ideas  of  kingship.  Macbeth  is  thus  not  entirely  alone  ; 
his  position  is  not  unrelated  to  the  positions  of  others.  Per- 
haps, also,  we  may  see  something  of  a  similar  phenomenon 
in  Othello  and  in  Hamlet.  In  both  of  these  plays  the  sub- 
plot works  rather  by  contrast  than  by  parallel.  The  tragedy 
of  Othello  depends  upon  the  apparent  infidelity  of  a  wife  ; 
and  this  theme  of  infidelity  is  caught  up  again  in  the  relations 
between  lago  and  Emilia. ^  So  in  Hamlet  the  theme  is 
revenge  for  a  father's  murder,  and  this  is  repeated  in  an  altered 
form  in  the  passion  of  Laertes  at  the  death  of  Polonius. 
Here,  as  in  Othello,  however,  the  contrast  is  emphasized. 
Just  as  lago  is  opposed  to  Othello,  and  Emilia's  vulgarity  to 
Desdemona's  innocence,  so  Hamlet  is  opposed  to  the  tem- 
pestuous and  resolute  Laertes,  and  Polonius,  garrulous  and 
weak,  to  the  imaged  figure  of  the  "  royal  Dane." 

Once  more,  as  Shakespeare  shows  us,  actual  enunciation 
is  not  required  in  tragedy;  suggestion,  mere  hints,  facts 
mentioned  in  passing  as  purest  trifles,  suddenly  and  often  un- 
consciously assume  tremendous  and  dominating  importance. 

*  Possibly  also  in  those  of  Cassio  and  Bianca. 

E  65 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Symbolism  in  the  Hero. — The  employment  of  a  sub- 
plot related  to  the  main  theme  of  the  play  is  not  one  much 
utilized  in  our  modern  drama.  There  has  been  a  certain 
reaction  to  the  sometimes  formless  romanticism  of  the 
earlier  stage,  and  this,  coupled  with  the  new  requirements 
of  the  twentieth-century  theatre,  has  tended  to  reduce 
both  tragedy  and  comedy  to  something  approaching  classical 
proportions.  Hardly  one  of  these  methods  we  have  already 
considered,  therefore,  may  be  freely  and  naturally  employed 
at  the  present  day.  There  are,  however,  other  ways  open 
to  modern  dramatists,  and  of  these  the  chief  perhaps  is  the 
identification,  not  necessarily  expressed  in  so  many  words, 
of  the  hero  with  an  ideal,  with  a  faith,  or  with  a  class — 
a  method  utilized  to  a  minor  extent  by  the  Greeks,  hardly  at 
all  by  Shakespeare,  and  most  largely  by  the  dramatists  of 
the  last  two  centuries.  If  we  refer  once  more  to  Arden  of 
Fever  sham  we  shall  find  that  Arden  represents  absolutely 
nothing  outside  himself.  Had  he  been,  as  it  were,  the 
symbol  of  a  type  of  men,  had  he  embraced  in  himself  the 
expression  of  a  high  ideal,  had  he  passed  beyond  the  limits 
of  mere  individual  existence,  then  the  play  of  which  he  was 
the  hero  might  have  risen  almost  to  the  level  of  Shake- 
spearian greatness.  Although  lacking  all  other  means  of 
obtaining  the  feeling  of  universality,  by  royalty  or  suggestions 
of  the  supernatural  or  sub-plot,  it  would  yet  have  taken  on 
a  new  complexion  ;  it  would  have  gripped  our  attention 
and  thrilled  us  as  now  it  cannot  do. 

It  has  been  pointed  out  by  Professor  Vaughan,  who 
has  thus  followed  the  line  laid  down  by  Hegel,  that  the 
Antigone  of  Sophocles  employs  this  device. ^  Creon  there  is 
the  representative  of  a  justice  that  is  based  on  earthly  laws ; 

*  Although  Professor  Vaughan  has  not  related  the  device  to  the 
securing  of  universality.  For  a  criticism  of  Hegel's  views  in  regard 
to  this  play  see  Dr  Smart's  Tragedy. 

66 


TRAGEDY 

Antigone  is  representative  of  a  justice  that  transcends  law 
as  we  know  it  and  touches  the  deepest  instincts  of  our  higher 
natures.  In  a  way,  too,  Heywood's  The  English  Traveller 
rises  above  the  hmits  of  individuahty,  for  Young  Geraldine 
is  more  than  an  isolated  figure.  He  is  representative  of  a 
class  of  those  honest  and  high-souled  gentlemen  who,  after 
years  of  foreign  travel,  returned  to  their  native  homes,  not 
inglesiitalianati,  diavoli  incarnati,  but  with  all  their  previous 
nobility  strengthened,  the  dross  of  their  beings  purified  by 
refinement  and  culture.  It  is  this  that  makes  Heywood's 
drama  stand  apart  from  the  anonymous  Arden  of  Fever  sham  ; 
it  is  the  sense  there  is  in  it  of  something  beyond  the  petty 
and  the  trivial  and  the  temporary,  something  that  has  a 
value  profound  and  universal. 

Ibsen's  plays  abound  in  this  identification.  Dr  Stock- 
mann,  in  An  Enemy  of  the  People,  is  not  merely  an  ordinary 
man  :  he  embraces  in  himself  a  complete  ideal  of  human 
life.  He  is  representative  at  once  of  a  class  and  of  a 
faith  ;  and  the  fact  that  he  is  so  representative  carries 
the  action  of  the  play  to  wider  realms  than  those  of  a 
small  Norwegian  town  and  gives  to  the  drama  a  universal 
appeal.  Goethe's  Faust  presents  a  similar  phenomenon  ; 
for  Faust  is  in  a  way  the  interpretation  of  the  spiritual 
beliefs  and  ideals  of  an  entire  age.  The  dramas  of 
Bjornson,  Galsworthy,  and  Sardou  are  formed  on  the 
same  plan. 

This,  probably,  will  be  one  of  the  main  resources  of  the 
dramatist  of  the  future.  Our  age  is  one  of  wide  ideals, 
of  individual-absorbing  faiths,  of  broad  classes  ;  the  period 
of  Elizabeth,  basing  its  existence  on  Renascence  beliefs  and 
aspirations,  looked  rather  toward  the  personality.  Mazzini's 
main  objection  to  Shakespeare  was  that  he  had  no  definite 
outlook  upon  life,  no  political  passion,  no  soul-dominating 
faith — "  I'avvenire  e  muto  nelle  sue  pagine,  I'entusiasmo  pei 

(>7 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

grand!  principii  ignorato  " — but  the  Elizabethan  age  was 
like  that.  The  passion  for  a  faith  apart  from  religion  grew 
largely  in  later  years.  It  was  present  in  the  Civil  War  of 
1642  ;  it  was  present  in  the  Rebellion  of  1688  ;  but  it  did 
not  reach  its  intensity  until  the  French  Revolution  had 
founded  a  new  world  on  the  ashes  of  the  old.  The  ten- 
dency of  literature  as  of  life  since  1789  has  been  toward 
the  expression  of  socialization,  toward  a  grouping  of 
personalities  under  broader  standards ;  sometimes  toward  the 
very  negation  of  personality,  sometimes,  as  in  anarchist 
thought  expressed  in  literature  by  William  Morris,  toward 
the  realization  of  personality  only  through  grouping  or  col- 
lectivism. Future  drama,  expressing  these  tendencies,  will 
therefore  veer  toward  the  presentation  of  vaster  forces,  of 
classes,  of  beliefs,  either  in  abstract  form,  or,  symbolically, 
through  the  concrete  presence  of  a  representative  personality. 
Such  plays  as  Galsworthy's  Strife  and  Justice  are  not  mere 
problem  dramas  ;  they  are  tragedies  in  which  the  forces  and 
classes  and  beliefs  of  present-day  existence  meet  and  clash. 
In  Strife  the  conflicting  characters  are  not  individuals,  as 
they  would  have  been  in  Elizabethan  days ;  they  are  but 
figure-heads,  symbols  of  elements  too  vast  to  be  presented 
within  the  limits  of  an  ordinary  theatre.  Everywhere  in 
modern  art  we  can  witness  a  passion  for  this  idealization, 
for  the  embodying  of  abstract  or  collective  forces  in  con- 
crete form.  It  reaches  its  fullest  expression  in  a  universal 
drama  such  as  Hardy's  The  Dynasts.  We  may  even  expect 
to  see  in  the  near  future  an  enlargement  and  alteration  of 
the  theatre,  corresponding  to  the  fuller  realization  of  this 
passion.  Reinhardt's  new  playhouse,  with  its  vaster  stage, 
capable  of  introducing  crowds  and  masses  of  people,  may  well 
be  taken  as  an  example  of  the  modern  development  in  stage 
construction. 1 

'   See  i}ijra,  pp.  113  ff. 

68 


TRAGEDY 

External  Symbolism. — Closely  connected  with  this  iden- 
tification of  the  hero  of  a  drama  with  a  class  or  a  faith  goes 
that  other  use  of  what  may  be  called  external  symbolism, 
a  device  employed  by  playwrights  of  all  ages,  but  probably 
with  most  effect  in  our  own  days.  There  is  a  typical  instance 
of  this  in  the  wild  duck  which  is  introduced  into  Ibsen's 
play  of  that  name.  The  horses  in  Rosmersholm  are  examples 
of  the  same  tendency.  Synge's  Riders  to  the  Sea  has  a 
similar  atmosphere.  There  is  in  all  of  these  an  endeavour 
to  fix  on  some  one  object  outside  the  characters  themselves 
and  to  treat  that  object  as  a  force,  or  symbolic  of  a  force, 
operating  from  without  on  the  action  of  the  drama,  or  else 
to  treat  it  as  symbolic  of  a  vaster  sphere  of  action,  connecting 
the  dramatis  persona  with  the  universe  at  large.  It  serves 
the  double  purpose  of  fusing  together  in  one  atmosphere 
the  varying  figures  of  the  play,  connecting  them  with  the 
audience  and  with  the  world  beyond  the  audience,  and  of 
providing  some  suggestion  of  forces  apart  from  the  events 
given  on  the  stage.  The  roaring  waters  referred  to  so  often 
in  Masefield's  The  Tragedy  of  Nan  act  somewhat  in  this 
way.  The  ring  and  the  well  in  Maeterlinck's  Pelleas  et 
MH'isande  are  symbolic  and  permanent,  things  immutable 
as  the  characters  are  not.  The  background  of  Przyby- 
szewski's  Snow  has  the  same  force.  Here  the  wide  expanse 
of  snow,  visible  to  the  audience  through  the  windows  of 
the  cosily  warmed  room,  provides  a  general  atmosphere  for 
the  tragedy.  The  snow  is  not  only  a  symbol  of  Bronka's 
mind  ;  it  is  a  symbol  of  something  outside  Bronka,  of 
something  greater  and  eternal.  Occasionally,  this  external 
symbolism  is  expressed  in  the  form  of  a  person,  and  in  this 
manner  links  itself  with  the  use  of  the  supernatural.  The 
nurse  in  this  last-mentioned  play  of  Przybyszewski's  is 
symbolic,  half-connected  with  another  world.  The  old 
madman  in  The  Tragedy  of  Nan  has  a  similar  power.     The 

69 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

witches  give  unity  of  tone  and  universality  to  Macbeth,  as 
does  the  Ghost  to  Hamlet. 

Heredity. — The  introduction,  however,  of  such  a 
symboHc  person  is  usually  eschewed  in  modern  tragedy  for 
reasons  that  will  at  once  be  apparent.  The  old  sense  of  fate 
has  gone,  and  the  direct  suggestion  of  a  supernatural  force 
is  somehow  incongruous.  Science  and  explanation  of  facts 
by  natural  means  have  taken  the  place  of  superstition  and 
the  belief  in  a  direct  superhuman  influence.  This  change 
of  attitude  is  seen  nowhere  more  clearly  than  in  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  ancient  Greek  theme  of  a  doomed  house 
and  in  the  substitution  therefor  of  the  use  of  heredity. 
Heredity  is  the  fate  of  our  present-day  existence,  just  as 
terrible  and  just  as  awe-inspiring  to  the  modern  atheist  or 
scientist  as  ever  the  three  sisters  were  to  an  ancient  Greek. 
Themost  famous  example  of  its  utilization  appears  in  Ibsen's 
Ghosts,  but  there  are  many  other  hardly  less  marked  occur- 
rences of  it  in  modern  drama.  In  Ghosts  the  real  tragic 
spirit  arises  not  from  the  pain  and  the  suffering  of  the  indi- 
viduals alone,  but  from  the  realization  in  the  minds  of  readers 
and  audience  that  this  is  a  curse  that  passes  beyond  the  borders 
of  the  life  and  death  of  an  individual,  and  that  heredity  has 
sway  over  all.  In  its  purer  form,  of  course,  this  theme 
could  not  often  be  treated  without  becoming  tedious  and 
monotonous ;  but  it  can  be  adapted  in  countless  ways  so  as 
to  appear  in  a  disguised  but  not  necessarily  less  potent  shape. 
The  two  dramas  mentioned  immediately  above,  The  Tragedy 
of  Nan  and  Snow,  have  it  suggested  in  a  certain  way,  if  not 
actually  stated.  The  tragedy  of  Nan  arises  out  of  heredity, 
out  of  the  curse  laid,  not  by  the  gods  but  by  society,  upon  an 
innocent  girl.  In  Snow  heredity  is  hinted  at  continually. 
Bronka's  sister,  we  are  told,  ended  her  life  tragically,  and  not 
only  so,  but  precisely  in  the  same  manner  as  the  heroine 
before  us.  At  once  we  feel  the  connexion  between  the  two, 
70 


TRAGEDY 

and  thus  appreciate  subconsciously  the  relationship  between 
the  characters  on  the  stage  and  forces  beyond  the  theatre. 

There  are,  of  course,  other  methods  of  obtaining  this 
feeling  of  universality.  The  means  are  literally  innumerable 
by  which  dramatists  ancient,  Elizabethan,  and  modern  have 
carried  their  plays  out  of  the  limitations  of  the  actual  and 
the  particular  to  other  planes  of  existence.  Some  of  these 
means  are  intimately  connected  with  the  very  source  of  the 
tragic  spirit  itself,  such  as  that  impression  of  waste  which 
Professor  Bradley  has  discerned  in  all  the  Shakespearian 
tragedy.  This  impression  of  waste  gives  power  and  dignity 
to  the  whole  tragic  impression  in  the  presentation  of  the 
vastness  of  the  universe.  The  chief  methods,  however, 
which  appear  to  be  most  noticeable  and  most  analysable  have 
probably  all  been  noted  above. 

Our  investigation,  therefore,  of  this  aspect  of  tragedy  has 
led  us  toward  the  realization  of  a  truth  that  may  be  thus 
formally  expressed  :  whenever  a  tragedy  lacks  the  feeling 
of  universality,  whenever  it  presents  merely  the  temporary 
and  the  topical,  the  detached  in  time  and  in  place,  then 
it  becomes  simply  sordid.  The  cardinal  element  in  high 
tragedy  is  universality.  If  we  have  not  this,  however  well 
written  the  drama  may  be,  however  perfect  the  plot,  and 
however  brilliantly  delineated  the  characters,  the  play  will 
fail,  and  be  classed  with  Arden  of  Feversham  rather  than 
with  Hamlet  and  Othello. 


(ii)  THE  SPIRIT  OF  TRAGEDY 
Pity  and  Terror. — This  universality  explains  one  thing 
about  tragedy  :  it  shows  to  us  that  part  at  least  of  the 
emotion  which  we  gain  from  reading  a  great  drama  arises 
from  the  fact  that  we  are  led  into  contact  with  a  series  of 
events  which  themselves  are  related  to  the  universe  without, 

71 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

This,  however,  is  only  part  of  the  emotion  that  comes  to  us. 
It  is  this  question  of  the  emotions  aroused  by  tragedy  that 
we  may  now  consider  in  greater  detail, 

Aristotle  has  decided  that  the  object  of  a  tragedy  is  to 
arouse  "  pity  and  terror."  ^  The  theme  of  tragedy  is  always 
an  unhappy  one.  It  frequently  introduces  misery,  torment 
physical  and  mental,  and  crime.  The  old  medieval  notion 
of  tragedy  as  a  falling  from  prosperity  to  unhappiness  has 
this  general  truth  in  it,  that  all  tragedy  of  all  nations  has 
always  had  about  it  an  element  of  pain  and  misery.  There 
are  two  questions  which  here  may  arise  :  (i)  Are  "  pity  and 
terror  "  truly  the  emotions  which  a  dramatist  should  seek 
to  produce  in  a  tragedy  ?  and  (2)  If  tragedy  thus  deals  with 
misery  what  pleasure  do  we  gain  from  it  ? 

The  answer  to  the  second  of  these  two  questions  obviously 
depends  upon  the  answer  which  we  shall  find  for  the  first, 
and  therefore  Aristotle's  statement  may  have  primary  con- 
sideration. "  Pity  and  terror  " — we  cannot  quite  be  assured 
what  Aristotle  meant  by  these  words,  but,  taking  them  at 
their  ordinary  English  value,  we  may  well  meditate  whether 
they  express  exactly  the  genuine  tragic  emotions.  Terror, 
assuredly,  is  frequently  called  forth  by  a  great  drama,  although 
terror  is  not  the  chief  emotion  in  an  audience;  but  as 
regards  pity,  we  may  truly  feel  doubtful  whether  in  a 
high  tragedy  it  may  to  any  great  extent  enter  in.  Tragedy, 
after  all,  is  not  a  thing  of  tears.  Pathos  stands  upon  a  lower 
plane  of  dramatic  art,  just  as  sentimentalism  is  lower  than 
a  genuine  humanitarian  spirit.  Pathos  is  closely  connected 
with  pity,  and  neither  is  generally  indulged  in  by  the  great 
dramatists  as  the  main  tragic  motif.  The  air  of  vEschylus 
is  stern  and  hard.  The  characters  he  has  introduced  are 
above  us,  mentally  and  morally,  because  of  their  loftiness 

^  On  Aristotle's  words  and  on  the  Kadapcris  which  tragedy  effects 
see  Butcher's  Aristotle's  Theory  of  Poetry  and  Fine  Art,  pp.  240  ff. 
72 


TRAGEDY 

and  their  nobility  ;  and  we  may  hardly  express  pity  for  what 
we  feel  is  loftier  and  nobler  than  ourselves.  We  can  pity 
a  man  or  an  animal,  but  we  cannot  pity  a  god.  There  is  no 
call  for  "  sympathetic  tears  "  toward  Prometheus  or  Orestes, 
precisely  because  in  the  grandeur  of  their  being  they  are 
greater  than  we  are.  We  do  not  sympathize  with  Othello 
to  the  extent  of  feeling  pity,  because  Othello  is  a  force 
beyond  our  ken,  primitive  perhaps,  but  strong  and  majestic. 
We  do  not  weep  at  the  death  of  Cordelia,  because  she  has  a 
power  and  a  firmness  in  her  nature  which  defy  our  analysis. 

If  we  take,  then,  the  great  tragedians  by  themselves — 
jiEschylus,  Shakespeare,  Alfieri,  Ibsen — or  study  individual 
works  of  theirs  we  shall  be  struck  by  this  firmness  and  hard- 
ness in  their  characters  and  their  plays.  There  is  always 
something  stern  and  majestic  about  the  highest  tragic  art. 

With  Shakespeare  we  do  sometimes  descend  to  pathetic 
scenes,  and  it  is  exceedingly  difficult  to  determine  whether 
this  is  due  to  that  spirit  existing  in  the  early  seventeenth 
century  which  gave  rise  about  1608  to  the  romantic  tragi- 
comedies of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  or  whether  it  is  because 
Shakespeare  felt  the  necessity  of  pathos  both  as  a  species  of 
relief  from  too  high  tension  and  as  a  kind  of  contrast  to  the 
genuine  tragic  sternness.  After  the  misery  and  horror  of 
Lear's  wandering  on  the  storm-swept  heath, after  Gloucester's 
eyes  have  been  torn  out  coram  populo,  we  suddenly  find  our- 
selves borne  into  that  scene  of  essential  pathos  when  the  aged 
king  awakens  to  discover  his  daughter  bending  over  him. 
That  would  appear  to  be  almost  the  only  passage  in  Lear 
where  Shakespeare  has  deliberately  striven  to  arouse  our  pity 
and  our  feelings  of  tenderness.  All  is  as  rock  around  ;  this 
one  scene  forms  a  relief  to  the  tremendous  effect  of  the  pre- 
ceding acts  and  a  moment  of  respite  ere  we  pass  to  the  even 
more  tremendous  conclusion.  Magnificent  passage  though 
it  be,  artistically  conceived  and  placed,   it  is  nevertheless, 

73 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

when  considered  alone,  seen  to  be  on  a  lower  plane  of  tragic 
expression  than  the  rest  of  the  play.  The  same  phenomenon 
may  be  studied  in  Shakespeare's  other  dramas.  Desdemona, 
weak  and  uninteresting,  is  made  an  object  for  our  pity  :  in 
Hamlet  the  mad  scene  of  Ophelia  is  pathetic  in  its  aim. 
Both  the  pathos  of  Desdemona  and  the  pathos  of  Ophelia  form 
reliefs  to  the  tragic  tension  of  the  dramas  in  which  they  appear. 
Considering  thus  the  relations  between  genuine  tragic 
expression  and  pathos,  we  can  well  realize  why  there  is  such 
a  chasm  between  the  serious  plays  of  1630-40  and  the 
tragedies  of  Shakespeare,  and  why  modern  plays  such  as 
The  Second  Mrs  Tanqueray  fall  below  the  level  of  the  highest 
art.  Some  of  these  dramas  are  excellently  constructed, 
magnificent  in  their  technique  ;  but  the  appeal  in  them  is 
directed  to  the  softer  parts  of  our  natures.  One  wonders 
whether  this  truth  regarding  tragedy  was  not  in  reality  truly 
divined  by  the  classic  and  the  neo-classic  critics  when  they 
fought  with  all  their  strength  against  romantic  colour  and 
variety.  Although  the  neo-classicists  never  expressed  it  in 
so  many  words,  although  they  confused  the  issue  by  reference 
to  the  "  ancients  "  and  by  the  theory  of  imitation,  they  may 
have  felt  that  the  rules  they  devised  would  preserve  for 
tragedy  that  sternness  and  that  statuesque  grandeur  which 
romantic  notions  only  too  soon  can  destroy.  The  later 
romantic  playwrights  all  spoil  their  work  by  neglecting  this 
hardness  of  texture.  Ford's  plays  are  beautiful,  but  they 
are  not  high  tragedies;  Coleridge's  Remorse  fails  to  thrill 
us,  in  spite  of  its  dark  caverns  lit  by  one  flaring  torch  and  its 
prisons  oozing  forth  mouldy  damps.  In  our  own  age  most  of 
our  dramatists  are  incapable  of  creating  real  tragedy  because 
they  lack  the  requisite  grandeur  of  temper  and  aim.  They 
may  produce  fine  melodramas  and  brilliant  pathetic  pieces, 
but  they  will  never  succeed  in  writing  plays  which  may  be 
classed  with  those  of  iEschylus,  Shakespeare,  and  Ibsen. 
74 


TRAGEDY 

Tragedy,  then,  we  may  say,  has  for  its  aim  not  the  arousing 
of  pity,  but  the  conjuring  up  of  a  feeling  of  awe  aUied  to 
lofty  grandeur. 

Tragic  Relief,  (a)  Heroic  Grandeur. — Up  to  this 
point  we  have  considered  only  the  aim  of  high  tragedy  so 
far  as  that  aim  affects  its  general  spirit ;  it  may  now  be  fitting 
to  turn  from  this  spirit  or  aim  to  a  consideration  of  what  is 
usually  styled  the  tragic  relief.  This  forms  the  second  of 
the  two  questions  proposed  at  the  beginning  of  this  section. 
Tragedy,  it  is  admitted,  deals  with  pain,  sometimes  with  vice, 
often  with  misery,  often,  if  not  necessarily,  with  death  ; 
whence,  we  may  ask  ourselves,  can  arise  our  pleasure  in 
witnessing  this  pain  and  this  desolation  ? 

The  first  and  undoubtedly  the  greatest  reason  for  our 
pleasure  derived  from  the  witnessing  of  a  painful  drama,  the 
prime  tragic  relief,  is  the  presence  in  some  one  or  other  of  the 
characters  of  a  lofty  nobility,  a  note  of  almost  heroic  grandeur. 
From  the  very  spirit  of  the  drama,  then,  comes  a  great  part 
of  the  recompense  for  the  terror  and  awe  which  thrill  us. 
We  gain  pleasure  in  reading  or  in  witnessing  Hamlet  from 
watching  Hamlet's  honesty  and  inherent  goodness  of  soul. 
We  see  him  baffled  by  circumstance,  but  we  are  willing  to 
witness  that  because  we  know  that  his  nobility,  the  inner 
goodness  of  his  being,  will  triumph  over  evil  and  over  death. 
So,  too,  with  the  figure  of  Cordelia.  Cordelia  dies  ;  we 
might  for  a  moment,  in  reading  Lear,  be  tempted  to  question 
the  necessity  for  her  murder,  but  this  thought  will  never 
come  to  us  while  we  are  seeing  a  theatrical  performance  of 
Lear,  nor  will  it  come  to  us  if  we  read  Lear  aright.  We  do 
not  think  whether  it  is  just  or  unjust  that  Cordelia  should  die. 
The  question  of  j  ustice  does  not  affect  us  at  all.  For  in  com- 
parison with  Cordelia's  self — with  what  she  actually  is — her 
death  is  as  nothing.      Death  itself  has  ceased  to  be  of  moment. 

Although    the   examples   already   given   are    both    from 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Shakespeare  we  shall  find  that  Shakespeare  is  by  no  means 
alone  in  thus  presenting  nobility  of  characterization  as  a 
tragic  relief.  The  predominating  feature  of  Greek  drama 
is  this  high  nobility  and  sublime  tone.  Orestes,  CEdipus, 
Prometheus — all  the  outstanding  persons  of  the  Greek 
drama — are  majestic  in  their  heroic  proportions.  We 
have  seen  that  they  can  excite  no  pity  in  their  grandeur  ; 
on  the  contrary,  their  grandeur  is  so  exaggerated  that 
they  seem  to  stand  above  us  as  demi-gods,  with  a  nobility 
greater  than  the  nobility  of  this  earth.  When  we  thus  con- 
sider the  persons  of  the  Greek  and  of  the  Shakespearian 
tragedy  it  will  at  once  be  apparent  that  the  heroic  drama  of 
Restoration  England,  ridiculous  as  it  may  be  in  characteriza- 
tion, simply  exaggerates  to  an  extreme  degree  the  heroic  note 
present  in  the  persons  of  iEschylus  and  Shakespeare.  We 
have  already  seen  that  this  heroic  tragedy  had  thus  exaggerated 
the  perfectly  natural  inner  conflict  of  Shakespeare's  heroes, 
turning  it  into  a  thing  of  love  and  honour  ;  so  here  we 
find  that  Dryden's  Almanzor  and  Montezuma  are  merely 
intensified  portraits  painted  on  the  same  lines  as  Othello 
and  CEdipus.  Although  not  one  of  those  heroic  tragedies 
ever  rises  to  the  height  of  pure  tragic  expression  we  may  find 
that,  as  a  class,  the  heroic  drama  will  serve  to  point  out  many 
characteristics  of  true  dramatic  productivity.  The  heroic 
tragedy  is  but  true  tragedy  carried  to  excess,  with  all  its 
elements  magnified  and  made  more  obvious. 

(b)  The  Feeling  of  Nobility. — Here,  however,  arises  an 
exceedingly  serious  and  difficult  problem.  We  have  men- 
tioned as  heroic  figures,  in  the  Greek  drama  Orestes,  and 
in  the  Shakespearian  drama  Macbeth.  Both  of  these,  in 
their  several  ways,  commit  atrocious  crimes  ;  and  we  find 
that  this  question  of  nobility  must  be  considered  in  close 
connexion  with  the  corollary  question  of  morality.  Morality 
is,  after  all,  a  word  of  no  absolute  meaning,  varying  from 
76 


TRAGEDY 

religion  to  religion,  from  race  to  race,  from  nation  to  nation, 
from  age  to  age,  from  individual  to  individual.  This  is 
granted,  perhaps,  by  nearly  all  but  the  extreme  religionists 
of  the  various  sects,  but  even  with  such  an  admission  it 
cannot  be  denied  that  there  are  certain  common  instincts  in 
humanity,  partly  derived  from  social  conventions,  by  which 
we  agree  as  to  the  righteousness  and  unrighteousness  of  de- 
finite actions,  particularly  those  of  a  more  violent  character. 
Murder,  for  example,  especially  murder  of  one  near  to  us, 
is  commonly  regarded  with  abhorrence  by  all  ;  and  if  that 
murder  be  presented  in  a  tragedy,  committed  by  the  hero 
of  the  play,  then  the  dramatist,  if  he  is  to  preserve  the 
dignity  and  nobility  of  his  work,  must  first  of  all  provide 
ample  motif  (or  the  committing  of  the  crime  and  display  after 
or  before  it  a  feeling  of  intense  shame  and  abhorrence.  We 
have  to  feel,  that  is  to  say,  that  the  playwright  himself  is 
imbued  with  what  we  may  call  the  noblest  feelings  of  the 
human  heart.  If  he  treats  his  theme  merely  as  a  fitting 
opportunity  for  the  introduction  of  sensational  incidents 
then  his  drama  as  a  whole  will  be  nauseous  to  us.  The 
Choephoroe  of  iEschylus  provides  a  fitting  example  of  the 
higher  treatment  of  such  a  theme.  There  the  Greek 
dramatist  has  presented  Orestes  with  continual  doubt  and 
horror  in  his  mind.  Orestes  feels  terror  and  detestation  at 
himself  before  he  murders  Clytemnestra  ;  he  feels  horror 
as  he  moves  toward  his  fell  purpose  ;  after  it  has  been  carried 
out  the  Furies,  half  personifications  of  his  own  thoughts  and 
emotions,  goad  him  on  to  madness.  The  motif  oi  his  crime 
is  excellently  and  fully  represented  :  the  crime,  in  spite  of  the 
motif,  is  engaged  in  with  absolute  terror  and  shame. 

With  a  more  modern  and  more  sensitive  audience  even 
such  a  motif  might  not  have  appeared  sufficient,  and  this, 
perhaps,  was  felt  by  Al fieri  when  he  came  to  treat  of  the 
same  theme.      In   his  Oreste  the  hero  dashes  within   the 

77 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

scene,  mad  with  rage  not  so  much  against  his  mother  as 
against  Egisto.  He  plunges  his  sword  into  the  breast  of 
Egisto,  but  in  his  madness  he  also  unwittingly  slays  Cliten- 
nestra.  Blinded  by  his  frenzy,  he  does  not  see  what  he  has 
done  ;  and  entering  upon  the  stage  with  Pilade  and  Elettra 
he  exults  in  the  slaughter  of  his  father's  murderer  :  ^ 

Or.  Oh,   perche  mesto, 

Parte  di  me,  se'tu  ?  non  sai  che  ho  spento 

Jo  quel  fellone  ?  vedi ;  ancor  di  sangue 

E  stillante  il  mio  ferro.     Ah,  tu  diviso 

Meco  i  colpi  non  hai  !  pasciti  dunque 

Di  questa  vista  gli  occhi. 
Pil.  I  Oh,  vista      Oreste, 

Dammi  quel  brando. 
Or.  A  che  ? 

Pi/.  Dammelo. 

Or.  II  prendi. 

Pi/.     Odimi — A  no!  non  lice  in  questa  terra 

Piu  rimaner  :  vieni  .  .  . 
Or.  Ma  qual  ? 

E/.  Deh,   park! 

Clitcnnestra  dov'e  ? 

^  A  translation  of  the  Italian  is  given  at  the  foot  of  each  page. 

Ores.  Oh,  wherefore  sad, 

Thou  sharer  of  my  thoughts  ?      Knowest  thou  not 
That  I  have  slain  him  ?     See  ;  the  blood  is  yet 
Dripping  from  my  sword.     Ah,  thou  hast  not 
Shared  in  my  triumph  !     Feast  then  thine  hungry  eyes 
On  this  rich  sight. 

Pyl.  That  sight !    Orestes, 

Give  me  thy  sword. 

Ores.  For  what  ? 

Pyl.  Give  me  thy  sword. 

Ores.  'Tis  here. 

Pyl.  List.     In  this  land  no  longer  can  we  stay. 

Come  .  .  . 

Ores.  But  what  ? 

Elect.  Oh,  speak  1  Pylades,  speak  ! 

Where  is  Clytemnestra  ? 
78 


TRAGEDY 

Or.  Lasciala  :  or  forse 

Al  traditor  marito  ella  arde  il  rogo. 
Pi/.     Piu  che  compiuta  hai  la  vendetta  ;   or  vieni ; 

Non  cercar  oltre  .   .   . 
Or.  Oh,  che  di'tu  ?  .  .  . 

E/.  La  mad  re 

Ti  ridomando,  Pilade.     Oh,  qual  m'entra 

Gel  nelle  vene  ! 
Pi/.  II  cielo  .  .  . 

E/.  Ah,  spenta  forse  !  .  . 

Or.      Volte  in  se  stessa  infuriata  ha  I'armi  ?  .  .  . 
£/.      Pilade  !   oime  !  .  .   .  tu  non  rispondi  ? 
Or.  Narra ; 

Che  fu  ? 
Pi/.  Trafitta  ... 

Or.  E  da  qual  mano  ? 

Pi/.  Ah  !  vieni  .  .  . 

E/.      Tu  la  uccidesti. 

Or.  lo  parricida  ?  .   .  . 

Pi/.  II  ferro 

Vibrasti  in  lei,  senza  avvederten,  cieco 

Ores.  Let  her  be  : 

Perchance  she  Hghts  that  wretch's  funeral  pyre. 
Pyl.    Thou  hast  more  than  ta'en  revenge;   but  come  this  way  ; 

Inquire  not  further  .  .  . 
Ores.  What  is't  thou  say'st  ?  .  .  . 

Elect.  Once  more 

I  ask,  my  mother,  Pylades  ?     Oh,  what 

A  chill  invades  my  heart  ! 
Pyl.  The  gods  .  .  . 

ElecL  She's  dead  I  .   .  . 

Ores.   In  maddened  rage  has  she  then  slain  herself  ?   .  .   . 
Elect.  Pylades  !     Ah  me  !  .  .   .  thou  answerest  not  ? 
Ores.  Tell  me  ; 

What  is't  ? 
Pyl.  Stabbed  .  .  . 

Ores.  By  whom  ? 

Pyl.  Come  ;  let  us  go  .  .  . 

Elect.  Thou  hast  killed  her. 

Ores.  I  ?     A  parricide  ?   .   .   . 

Pyl.  Thy  sword 

Has  pierced  her  breast,  as  thou,  unconscious,  blind 

79 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

D'ira,  correndo  a  Egisto  incontro.   .   .  . 

Or.  Oh,  quale, 

Orror  mi  prende  !     Jo  parricida  ? — II  brando, 
Pilade,  dammi  :  io'l  vo'  .   .   . 

Pil.  Non  fia. 

EI.  Fratello  .  .  . 

Pii.     Misero  Oreste  ! 

Or.  Or,  chi  fratel  mi  noma  ? 

Empia,  tu  forse,  che  serbato  a  vita, 
E  al  matricidio  m'hai  ? — Rendimi  il  brando, 
II  brando  ;  .  .  .    Oh,  rabbia  ! — Ove  son  io  ?  che  feci  ?  .  . 
Chi  mi  trattien  ?  .   .   .  Chi  mi  persegue  ?  .   .  .  Ahi !  dove. 
Dove  men  fuggo  ?  .  .  .  ove  mi  ascondo  ? — O  padre, 
Torvo  mi  guardi  ?  a  me  chiedesti  sangue  : 
E  questo  e  sangue  ;  ...  e  sol  per  te  il  versai. 

El.      Oreste,  Oreste  .   .  .  Ahi,  misero  fratello  !  .   .   . 

Gia  pill  non  ci  ode  ;  .  .  .  e  fuor  di  se  .  .  .  Noi  semprc 
Pilade,  al  fianco  a  lui  staremo  .  .  . 

Pii.  Oh,  dura 

D'orrendo  fato  inevitabil  legge  ! 


In  thy  rage,  dashed  upon  Jigisthus.   .   .   . 

Ores.  Oh,  what 

A  fear  enfolds  me  !     I  have  killed  her  ?     That  sword, 
Pylades,  give  it  me.     I  must  .   .  . 

Pyl.  It  shall  not  be. 

Elect.  My  brother  .  .  . 

Pyl.  Wretched  Orestes  ! 

Ores.  Who  calls  me  brother  ? 

Thou  impious  woman,  perhaps,  who  hast  to  life 
And  to  the  murder  of  mj'  mother  saved  me  ? — 
Give  me  that  sword,  that  sword  ;  .  .   .   Oh,  Furies  ! — What 
Have  I  done  ?  .  .  .  Where  am  I  ?  .  .  .  Who  is  by  me  ?  .  .  .  Who 
Torments  me  ?   .  .   .  Oh,  where,  where  shall  I  fly  ?     Where 
Shall  I  hide  my  miserable  self  ?   .  .   .  My  father  ! 
Dost  thou  glare  at  me  ?     Thou  asked'st  blood  ; 
And  here  is  blood  ;  .   .  .  for  thee  alone  I  spilt  it. 

Elect.  Orestes,  Orestes  .  .  .   Oh,  miserable  brother  !   .   .   . 

He  hears  us  not  .  .   .  his  sense  is  gone.  .  .  .  Ever  must  we, 
Dear  Pylades,  stand  by  his  side.  .  .  . 

Pyl.  Cruel 

Inevitable  law  of  fearful  destiny  ! 
Jo 


TRAGEDY 

This  last  scene  is  perfect  in  its  restraint  and  in  its  power. 
It  betokens  not  only  the  genius  and  the  nobility  of  Alfieri's 
thought  and  character,  but  shows  how  the  theatre  will 
always  adapt  itself  to  the  needs  and  desires  of  the  different 
ages.  The  treatment  of  ^Eschylus  was  the  treatment  of  a 
Greek;  putting  ourselves  back  in  the  ancient  world,  we 
can  appreciate  its  nobility  and  its  grandeur ;  but,  as  Alfieri 
felt,  it  is  a  treatment  not  precisely  fitted  for  the  world  of 
to-day. 

From  these  two  plays  of  vEschylus  and  Alfieri  we  might 
turn  to  the  cognate  drama  of  Sophocles,  where  at  once  we 
see  a  decided  weakening  of  tone.  Whereas  Orestes  in  the 
other  two  plays  had  been  filled  with  shame  and  remorse, 
here  he  displays  no  horror  at  the  deed  he  has  committed. 
The  construction  is  skilful,  the  characterization  is  fine  ;  but 
the  feeling  of  nobility  is  absent,  and  the  play  of  Sophocles 
descends  dangerously  near  to  that  fatal  rock  in  dramatic 
art,  sensationalism.  In  exactly  similar  manner  may  be 
compared  the  two  tragedies  of  Medea  written  by  Euripides 
and  Seneca  respectively.  By  Euripides  Medea  is  coarsely 
drawn  ;  she  has  not  that  high  sublimity  and  that  heroic 
grandeur  which  is  so  noticeable  in  the  creations  of  iEschylus  ; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  the  Greek  dramatist  has  endeavoured 
by  all  means  in  his  command  to  excite  for  her  the  sympathies 
of  the  audience.  She  is  a  lonely  woman,  a  woman  suddenly 
cast  into  affliction.  All  her  primitive  furies  are  awakened, 
and  the  deed  which  she  commits  seems  to  flow  from  a 
natural  cause.  We  may  say  that  the  Medea  of  Euripides 
is  a  slightly  sentimental  creation,  but  in  her  is  expressed  a 
nobility,  a  primitive  nobility,  where  crude  horror  at  her  own 
Clime  mingles  with  her  hate  and  with  her  desire  for  revenge. 
We  turn  to  the  Medea  of  Seneca  and  at  once  we  discover 
that  we  have  to  deal  with  an  entirely  different  being.  Medea 
here  is  nothing  more  than  a  melodramatic  villainess.     We 

F  8i 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

seek  in  her  in  vain  for  any  truly  noble  element.  Thrills 
we  get,  horror  and  dismay  are  cast  upon  us,  hut  nothing  that 
would  show  that  the  Roman  author  felt  the  terror  of  her 
crime.     Seneca  fails  in  the  highest  test. 

There  is  hardly  any  necessity  to  refer  here  to  Shakespeare. 
He,  too,  has  chosen  his  villain  heroes,  but  in  every  one  of 
them  there  is  depicted  a  high  nobility.  Macbeth  sins  doubly, 
trebly  : 

He's  here  in  double  trust : 
First,  as  I  am  his  kinsman  and  his  subject, 
Strong  both  against  the  deed  ;   then,  as  his  host, 
Who  should  against  his  murderer  shut  the  door, 
Not  bear  the  knife  myself.     Besides,  this  Duncan 
Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 
So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 
Will  plead  like  angels  trumpet-tongued  against 
The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking-off  .   .  .  ^ 

Everywhere  he  sees  the  horror  of  his  deed.  It  makes  him 
start  with  terror  when  he  first  conceives  it ;  it  gives  him 
visions  of  blood-smeared  daggers  as  he  goes  about  his  fatal 
purpose  ;  it  sears  all  the  rest  of  his  days  with  the  thought- 
stains  of  conscience. 

There  is  something  of  horror,  perhaps,  that  stays  the  hand 
of  the  hesitating  Hamlet.  He  accuses  himself  of  cowardice  ; 
"  religion,"  he  says,  retards  him.  He  cannot  stab  this 
drunken  king  in  cold  blood.  Othello,  too,  sees  all  the 
hideousness  of  his  murder ;  he  feels  "  the  pity  of  it,"  and 
slays  Desdemona  with  heroic  terrors  gnawing  at  his  heart. 
It  is  "  the  cause,"  not  a  selfish  jealousy,  that  nerves  him  to 
smother  his  wife.  In  killing  her  he  kills  himself  : 
Put  out  the  light,  and  then  put  out  the  light  ! 

Nowhere    in    Shakespeare's   genuine    work    is    there   a 
loss  of  this  high  morality,  this  feeling  for  all  that  is  best 

^  Macbeth,  Act  I,  Scene  vii. 
82 


TRAGEDY 

and  most  lofty  in  the  human  conscience,  except  perhaps 
in  those  monster  daughters  who  mar  the  greatness  of  the 
tragedy  of  Lear,  mere  stage  villainesses  lacking  vitaHty, 
with  the  strings  on  their  puppet-shoulders  all  too  clearly 
seen. 

This  is  not  a  question  of  didacticism.  None  of  the  great 
dramatists  have  preached,  though  all  indirectly  have  been 
stern  moralists,  .^schylus,  Sophocles,  Shakespeare,  Racine, 
Alfieri,  Ibsen — all  are  alike  in  sharing  a  certain  aloofness. 
They  stand  apart  from,  never  descend  into,  their  creations. 
On  the  other  hand,  although  all  of  these  have  seen  the 
triviality  of  the  lesser  'poetic  justice'  which  led  astray  so 
many  of  the  minor  playwrights,  and  although  they  all  present 
in  some  way  or  another  their  realization  of  the  narrowness 
of  that  conception  of  tragedy  which  makes  death  a  punish- 
ment and  life  a  reward,  nevertheless  they  have  all  indicated 
in  general  outlines  a  broader  and  a  grander  justice.  Lear's 
sufferings,  for  example,  in  one  way  may  be  regarded  as  the 
punishment  meted  out  for  his  pride,  but  the  misery  which 
falls  upon  him  is  out  of  all  proportion  to  his  fault,  and  in  his 
suffering  he  is  made  to  rise  to  a  new  nobility.  Lear  was 
never  more  a  king,  says  a  critic,  than  when  he  stood  shorn  of 
the  outward  trappings  of  royalty  and  enhaloed  with  that  fresh 
majesty  which  became  a  man.  Cordelia,  too,  suffers  for 
her  pride,  but  before  her  also  a  new  world  is  opened  in  her 
suffering.  Again,  it  is  only  after  the  murder  of  Duncan 
that  Macbeth  understands  the  sadness  of  life,  realizes  the 
uselessness  of  all  he  has  done,  sees,  by  contrast  with  the  sere 
and  yellow  leaf,  all  the  beauty  and  the  grandeur  he  has 
abandoned.  Death  for  him  is  no  punishment ;  his  punish- 
ment has  already  come.  In  a  general  sense,  therefore,  we 
may  say  that  Lear  and  Macbeth  are  didactic  plays,  but  not 
in  the  way  that  Lillo's  The  London  Merchant  or  Holcroft's 
The  Road  to  Ruin  are  didactic.      Herein  truly  lies  the  reason 

83 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

why  all  great  tragedies  present  a  problem,  but  never  give  a 
solution.  We  are  faced  in  them  with  terror,  awe,  nobility, 
suffering  idealized  ;  the  problem  is  given  to  us,  but  the  solu- 
tion remains.  Although  we  feel  that  the  great  dramatist, 
such  as  Shakespeare  or  i^schylus,  as  opposed  to  Seneca,  is 
on  the  side  of  the  noble,  on  the  side  of  the  good,  he  never 
deserts  his  mission  of  creative  artistry  to  descend,  through  his 
characters  or  in  propria  persona,  to  preach  a  moral  or  a  lesson. 
He  leaves  that  part  to  the  minor  writers,  or  to  those  who, 
misled  by  false  theory,  find  no  art  valuable  bat  such  as 
serves  a  didactic  purpose.  The  elusiveness  of  Shakespeare 
is  simply  the  elusiveness  of  high  art ;  it  is  not  a  characteristic 
peculiar  to  himself;  he  shares  it  with  pre-Christian  Greece 
and  with  modern  Europe. 

(c)  The  Sense  of  Universality. — From  the  nobility  of  the 
characters  and  from  the  implied,  though  never  directly  stated, 
moral  aim  comes  the  greater  part  of  the  tragic  relief;  but 
this  is  not  all.  Part,  too,  comes  from  that  very  sense  of 
universality  which  has  been  stated  to  be  the  fundamental 
characteristic  of  all  high  tragedy — some  form  of  contact  with 
infinity.  If  we  are  religious  we  shall  say  it  is  a  contact  with 
forces  divine  ;  if  we  are  atheistic  we  shall  say  it  is  a  contact 
with  the  vast,  illimitable  forces  of  the  universe.  Everywhere 
in  high  tragedy  there  is  this  sense  of  being  raised  to  loftier 
heights.  In  older  drama  it  had  naturally  a  more  distinctly 
religious  note ;  in  modern  drama  it  will  more  probably  tend 
toward  the  introduction  of  scientific  forces — evolution, 
racial  characteristics,  heredity,  even  of  abstract  social  forces 
and  convention.  Just  as  Ghosts  is  a  tragedy  of  heredity,  so 
The  Tragedy  of  Nan,  which  also,  as  we  have  seen,  touches  on 
the  same  theme,  is  largely  a  drama  of  social  conventions. 
Many  modern  tragedies  depend  not  on  certain  personalities 
presented  in  isolated  surroundings,  but  on  individuals  placed 
in  the  midst  cf  social  powers  from  which  they  derive  their 
84 


TRAGEDY 

joys  and  their  sorrows.  We  may  have  plays  where  the 
whole  motif  is  drawn  from  such  a  source.  ^  Doll's  House 
is  one  ;  The  Second  Mrs  Tanqueray  is  another.  Here  the 
personalities  are  set  in  the  peculiar  circumstances  which 
cause  the  tragic  development  of  the  plot  because  of  their 
contact  with,  and  their  reaction  to,  the  rules  and  the  codes 
of  their  society. 

This  use  of  universality  as  a  means  of  tragic  relief,  at  once 
raising  and  making  trivial  the  actual  emotions  of  the  charac- 
ters before  us,  is  almost  indistinguishable  from  that  sense  of 
waste  which,  as  we  noted,  is  most  marked  in  the  dramas  of 
Shakespeare.  We  feel  that  if  nature  thus  can  waste  what  is 
good  and  precious  and  beautiful,  if  without  a  tear  it  can  cast 
off  Cordelia  and  Hamlet  and  the  ill-starred  lovers,  then  the 
misery  and  the  pain  has  some  symbolic  value  of  which  we 
are  unaware,  and  the  beauty  of  the  universe  is  richer  than 
we  dreamt.  The  most  powerful  tragic  dramatists  by  their 
strength  and  by  their  sternness  appear  in  union  with  the  vast 
forces  of  nature,  and  the  very  presence  of  their  minds  above 
and  beyond  the  play  and  its  characters  gives  us  comfort  and 
recompense  and  relief. 

id)  Poetical  Effect. — There  are,  besides,  other  elements 
in  high  tragedy  which  serve  to  take  from  the  utter  darkness 
of  the  story  unfolded  before  us.  There  is  the  presence  of 
the  creative  artistic  power  of  the  dramatist  himself,  and, 
particularly  in  the  Greek  and  Elizabethan  plays,  the  rhythm 
of  the  verse,  to  reave  away  our  minds  for  a  moment  from  the 
gloomy  depths  of  the  tragedy.  A  more  detailed  considera- 
tion of  the  use  and  of  the  value  of  verse  in  tragedy  we  may 
leave  till  later,  but  here  it  may  be  observed  that  verse  in  many 
cases  acts  as  a  kind  of  anaesthetic  on  our  senses.  The  sharp 
edge  of  the  pain  is  removed  in  the  plays  of  i^schylus  and 
Shakespeare,  and  though  it  becomes  more  poignant  in  some 
ways,  yet  it  is  reft  of  its  crudeness  and  sordidness  by  the  beauty 

85 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

of  the  language.  This  effect  of  verse  is  obviously  lacking 
in  the  prose  realistic  plays  which  appeared  in  such  numbers 
during  the  nineteenth  century.  We  may  not  condemn 
these  prose  dramas,  many  of  them  among  the  masterpieces 
of  the  world's  art,  but  perhaps  the  ultimate  value  and  even 
necessity  of  verse  in  high  tragedy  is  indicated  by  them.^  Not 
only  do  they  seem  to  lack  something  which  is  present  in  the 
blank-verse  dramas  and  in  the  lyrical  tragedies  of  past  ages, 
but  in  themselves  they  appear  continually  to  be  straining 
toward  what  is  for  them  a  perfectly  illegitimate  semi-poetic 
utterance.  Sometimes  this  endeavour  to  pass  from  pure 
prose  levels  is  successful,  but  more  often  it  clashes  rather 
pitifully  with  the  general  atmosphere  of  the  play,  as  in 
Masefield's  The  Tragedy  of  Nan,  where  the  old  gaffer  seems 
disassociated  from  the  other  characters  in  the  tragedy.  The 
same  disharmony  is  present  also  in  the  figure  of  the  Nurse 
in  Przybyszewski's  Snow.  This  endeavour,  unconsciously 
practised,  indicates  and  registers  a  dissatisfaction  on  the  part 
of  the  dramatists  with  the  peculiar  medium  they  have  adopted. 
Just  as  in  the  novels  of  Dickens  or  in  Kingsley's  Westward 
Ho  !,  when  the  theme  takes  on  a  deep  colouring  of  passion, 
the  writers  have  fallen  into  a  spurious  half-rhythmic  move- 
ment, so  in  these  prose  dramas,  unless  in  the  hands  of  the 
absolute  genius,  there  are  frequent  lapses  from  what  is  the 
true  spirit  of  the  play. 

[e]  Malicious  Pleasure.  —  One  other  reason  for  the 
pleasure  we  receive  from  witnessing  or  from  reading  a 
tragedy  must  be  briefly  glanced  at.  It  is  the  reason 
commonly  adduced  by  the  psychologists — the  primitive 
pleasure  we  gain  from  watching  the  pain  of  others.^  This, 
naturally,  in  its  crudest  form,  unless  in  certain  peculiarly 

^  In  his  essay  on  Tragedy  Dr  Smart  comes  to  the  same  conclusion  : 
"  It  seems  to  follow  that  tragedy  in  its  most  perfect  form  is  poetical, 
and  that  the  greatest  tragic  works  are  poems"  (p.  27). 

'  The  chief  exponent  of  this  view  is  perhaps  Emile  Faguet. 
86 


TRAGEDY 

minded  individuals,  has  now  been  lost ;  but  possibly  there 
exists  in  us  sufficient  of  the  savage  to  make  us  take  a  kind  of 
unconscious  delight  in  witnessing  the  sorrows  of  a  Hamlet 
or  of  an  Othello.  The  very  fact  that  we  can  see  how 
Othello  is  being  hoodwinked,  how  Hamlet  is  losing  his 
opportunities,  gives  us  a  strange  thrill  of  pleasure.  We 
realize  that,  great  and  noble  and  majestic  as  these  heroes 
may  be,  we  have  the  better  of  them  in  one  way  at  least. 
We  stand  for  a  moment  alongside  the  dramatist-creator,  and 
smile  at  the  puppets.  Possibly  there  is  not  much  of  this 
in  our  pleasure  at  witnessing  a  tragedy,  but  unless  there  were 
an  element  of  it  we  probably  could  not  bear  to  see  a  play 
of  misery  through.  We  have  long  passed  the  stage  when 
real  pain  in  others  might  be  a  laughable  thing,  when  a  fierce 
delight  could  come  from  watching  another's  distress  ;  but 
perhaps  in  the  world  of  the  theatre,  where  we  know  that  the 
figures  are  unreal,  we  retain  enough  of  the  spirit  of  the  boy 
who  loves  to  see  a  butterfly  feebly  struggling  on  a  pin,  or  of 
the  savage  who  has  not  an  atom  of  pity  for  his  conquered 
enemy,  to  gain  a  secret  and  an  unacknowledged  pleasure 
from  what  are  truly  our  most  primitive  emotions. 

This  reason,  however,  deeply  rooted  as  it  may  be  and 
capable  of  highly  intricate  psychological  investigation,  seems 
to  fade  into  insignificance  when  placed  alongside  the  major 
and  fundamental  causes.  We  may  explain  by  it  to  some 
extent  the  fact  that  we  do  not  shrink  from  the  pain  and  from 
the  misery  of  tragedy,  but  tragedy  will  never  rise  above 
purely  sordid  levels  unless  it  has  firmly  stressed  one  or  other 
of  the  aspects  and  qualities  dealt  with  above ;  and  the 
highest  tragedy,  that  of  ^schylus  and  of  Shakespeare,  will 
display  all  four  characteristics  :  the  grandeur  of  spirit  and  of 
character,  the  universality  of  the  emotions,  the  rich  rhythm 
of  the  verse,  and  the  sense  of  noble  purpose  and  lofty 
morality. 

87 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

(iii)  STYLE 

The  Lyrical  Element  in  Tragedy. — On  account  of 
its  importance,  although  it  has  come  up  in  connexion  with 
the  spirit  of  tragedy,  we  have  left  the  problem  of  style  to  be 
treated  by  itself.  In  dealing  with  it  we  must  always  bear 
in  mind  that  this  problem  of  style  is  intimately  related  to 
the  problems  of  action,  of  conflict,  and  of  tragic  relief. 

A  glance  at  the  origin  and  development  of  tragedy  may 
help  us  here  toward  a  solution.  The  drama  in  Greece  rose 
out  of  a  song ;  in  England  it  was  nearly  related  in  origin  to  a 
religious  chant.  As  it  has  progressed  both  in  ancient  days 
and  in  Elizabethan  England,  there  has  clung  to  it  a  certain 
strain  of  lyricism,  which  expresses  itself  at  times  through  the 
actual  dialogue,  at  times  breaks  into  more  formal  melody. 
"  The  Greek  tragedy,"  says  Coleridge,  "  may  be  compared 
to  our  serious  opera,"  and  opera  in  truth  is  but  the  extreme 
development  of  what  is  inherent  in  nearly  all  forms  of  tragic 
development.  In  England,  when  men  as  yet  were  ignorant 
of  classical  example,  the  serious  mysteries  tended  to  assume 
lyric  measures  ;  later,  when  the  drama  developed  in  the 
hands  of  Marlowe,  Shakespeare,  and  the  later  Elizabethans, 
blank  verse  was  taken  over  as  the  inevitable  medium  for 
tragic  expression.  Song,  moreover,  was  continually  intro- 
duced, and  this  has  appeared  as  a  handmaid  to  tragedy  in 
almost  all  the  succeeding  centuries. 

The  origin  of  tragedy  was  a  song  ;  its  development  has 
been  along  lyrical  lines.  In  viewing  this,  may  we  not  well 
ask  ourselves  whether  lyricism,  the  singing  strain  in  some 
form  or  another,  is  not  the  necessary  medium  for  all  true 
tragedy  .?  Our  query  may  take  the  form  of  a  double 
question  :  is  this  lyrical  element  in  Greek  and  in  early 
English  tragedy  something  that  the  playwrights  have  felt 
to  be  necessary,  something  that  truly  has  an  intimate 
88 


TRAGEDY 

relationship  with  the  inner  core  of  the  tragic  spirit,  or  is  it 
the  mere  traditional  remnant,  conservatively  retained,  of 
the  source  of  the  species,  something  that  no  one  has  had 
the  courage  to  fling  off  even  after  it  had  served  its  legitimate 
purpose  and  had  become  useless  ?  Lyricism  was  preserved 
in  Greek  drama  not  only  in  the  dialogue  but  even  in  the 
strophes,  anti-strophes,  and  epodes  of  the  chorus  ;  but  may 
this  not  have  been  an  element  retained,  like  the  chorus  itself, 
because  of  religious  prejudice  ?  Shakespeare  has  kept  a 
lyrical  element  in  his  blank  verse  and  in  the  songs  which 
he  occasionally  introduces ;  but  may  not  this  again  be  due 
to  the  conventions  inherited  from  the  days  of  the  mysteries 
and  strengthened  by  Renascence  enthusiasm  for  the  example 
of  the  ancients  ? 

Before  we  come  to  answer  these  questions  directly,  a 
further  glance  at  the  history  of  this  lyricism  in  tragedy  may 
not  be  inopportune.  It  is  evident  that  the  Elizabethan 
dramatists  struck  a  mean,  adhering  to  the  new  blank  verse 
brought  from  Italy  by  the  Earl  of  Surrey,  a  type  of  verse 
rhythmical  in  utterance,  yet  nearer  to  the  language  of  real 
life  than  any  species  of  verse  of  the  riming  type.  With 
occasional  lapses  into  decasyllabic  couplets  here  and  there,  and 
with  the  infrequent  introduction  into  the  dialogue  of  poetic 
forms  such  as  the  sonnet  (as  in  Romeo  and  Juliet),  blank  verse 
dominated  the  whole  of  tragic  endeavour  in  England  from 
Sackville  and  Norton's  Gorhoduc  to  Shirley's  The  Traitor 
and  The  Cardinal.  As  drama  advanced,  however,  there 
may  be  observed  two  reactions  to  this  employment  of  blank 
verse.  In  the  rimed  couplets  and  in  the  heightened  style 
of  our  own  late  seventeenth-century  heroic  tragedy,  and  in 
the  rime  of  the  French  drama,  we  may  trace  an  attempt  to 
increase  the  lyrical  element,  although  at  the  same  time  to 
restrict  the  true  lyric  note  by  an  exaggerated  decorum  and  a 
false  regularity  of  expression.    This  increased  lyrical  element 

89 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

is  to  be  seen  still  further  developed  in  the  plays  produced 
in  Spain  under  Calderon  ;  there  the  measures  are  not  so 
monotonous  as  those  of  Dryden  or  Racine,  and  the  song 
quality  is,  as  a  consequence,  more  in  evidence.  Opposed  to 
this  there  is  to  be  discovered  a  development  toward  the 
opposite  extreme.  In  the  verse  of  Fletcher  and  his  com- 
panions we  can  trace  a  sense  of  dissatisfaction  with  the 
Shakespearian  blank  verse,  an  endeavour  to  work  back  to  the 
language  of  ordinary  life,  where  "  the  pitch  of  poetry,"  in 
the  words  of  Symonds,  has  been  lost.  Still  more  revolu- 
tionary were  the  prose  dramatists.  The  verse  of  Arden  of 
Feversham  is  continually  breaking  down  from  the  levels  of 
poetry,  and  the  tendency  marked  in  this  play  was  caught 
up  by  the  bourgeois  dramatists  of  the  eighteenth  century. 
Lillo  set  the  fashion  with  The  London  Merchant,  and  his 
example  was  followed  by  Moore  and  Holcroft  in  England, 
by  Diderot  and  others  in  France,  by  Lessing  and  Kotzebue 
in  Germany,  and  by  Ibsen  and  Strindberg  in  the  North, 
until  prose  was  established  as  one  of  the  chief  media  for  the 
expression  of  modern  serious  drama. 

The  question,  then,  before  us  takes  a  slightly  altered 
form  :  it  is  not  merely  a  decision  between  verse  and  prose 
that  is  demanded,  but  a  choice  of  one  of  three  media — rimed 
or  excessively  lyric  measures,  blank  verse,  and  pure  prose. 

Blank  Verse  and  Rime. — As  regards  the  first  two  little 
need  be  said.  Except  perhaps  for  certain  particular  types  of 
drama,  rimed  verse  appears  too  far  removed  from  actual  life 
to  be  a  suitable  medium  for  tragedy.  The  development 
of  the  drama  in  Greece  is  highly  instructive  here.  The 
chorus,  which,  because  of  the  origin  of  the  Athenian  stage, 
was  retained  as  an  integral  part  of  the  structure  of  his  plays 
by  i^schylus,  was  in  the  hands  of  Sophocles  and  Euripides 
gradually  driven  out  of  the  scheme  of  tragedy.  With  the 
last-mentioned  playwright,  indeed,  the  chorus  became 
90 


TRAGEDY 

merely  the  medium  through  which  was  presented  to  the 
audience  a  series  of  often  detached  and  independent  songs. 
Had  any  other  great  dramatists  arisen  after  his  time  it  is 
highly  probable  that  the  chorus  would  have  been  still  further 
degraded,  and  that  the  dialogue  would  have  stood  by  itself. 
The  development  of  Shakespeare's  tragic  productivity  pro- 
ceeds on  lines  strictly  analogous  to  those  taken  by  the  Greek 
drama  as  a  whole.  Exaggerated  lyricism  in  his  art  is  a  sure 
sign  of  youthful  workmanship  ;  in  the  later  and  greater 
tragedies  the  language  is  brought  as  near  to  real  life  as  the 
requirements  of  the  blank  verse  will  allow. 

Racine,  certainly,  and  Calderon  have  succeeded  to  some 
extent  in  expressing  high  emotions  through  the  medium  of 
rimed  verse,  but  generally  their  efforts  may  be  regarded  as 
mere  tours  de  force.  The  Restoration  drama,  even  in  the 
hands  of  a  genius  such  as  Dryden,  fails  not  only  because  of 
its  exaggerated  emotions,  but  because  of  its  tinkling  dialogue. 
There  are  beautiful  masques  in  rime,  but  the  masque  after 
all  never  rises  to  the  dignity  of  high  tragic  expression. 
Tragedy  must  always  have  some  close  relationship  to  life  ; 
if  we  remove  it  overfar  from  worldly  existence  it  ceases  to 
thrill  us  with  a  sense  of  awe  and  of  grandeur.  The 
Prometheus  C7«Z»o««^  of  Shelley  is  a  beautiful  dramatic  poem, 
but  it  could  never,  because  of  its  intense  lyrical  note,  startle 
and  surprise  us  like  Hamlet  and  Macbeth.  Blank  verse  is 
rhythmical ;  it  allows  of  the  expression  of  the  most  poetical 
of  thoughts  ;  and  yet,  because  of  its  structure,  it  remains 
close  to  real  life.  In  hearing  it  we  are  not  startled  by  the 
artificiality  of  the  expression.  In  blank  verse  we  hear  the 
language  of  ordinary  life  rarefied  and  made  more  exalted. 
In  the  choice  between  it  and  rimed  verse,  therefore,  we  may 
unhesitatingly  decide  for  the  former,  declaring  that  an  undue 
lyrical  element  is  unfitted  for  the  expression  of  the  highest 
tragic  spirit ;    but  the  decision  between  verse  as  a  whole 

91 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

and  prose  as  the  most  suitable  medium  for  tragedy  remains 
to  be  taken. 

Blank  Verse  and  Prose. — It  may  be  best  to  put 
forward  here  a  dogmatic  statement  and  then  to  consider 
several  reasons  that  may  be  adduced  to  prove  its  sound- 
ness. In  general,  it  may  be  said,  it  would  appear  that  the 
Elizabethan  dramatists  were  right  in  employing  verse  in  their 
tragedies,  and  that  the  more  modern  prose  development  is 
uninformed,  an  experiment  dangerous  and  antagonistic  to 
the  spirit  of  high  tragedy. 

That  which  is  appealed  to  most  in  a  tragedy  is  the  emotions. 
Tragedy  does  not  often  direct  itself  to  the  intellect  as  such  ; 
it  deals  always  with  the  deepest  moments  of  human  feeling. 
There  are  few  tragedies  of  pure  thought ;  even  Hamlet, 
which  is  more  philosophical  than  the  majority  of  the 
Elizabethan  dramas,  has  emotion  constantly  threading  the 
intellectual  framework  of  Hamlet's  character.  It  has  been 
proved,  however,  by  the  practice  of  long  ages  and  of  diverse 
races,  that  the  emotions  invariably  find  their  fittest  literary 
expression  in  rhythmical  form.  There  is  a  certain  natural 
melody  in  passion  of  any  kind,  and  tragedy,  in  dealing  with 
thepassions,  will  therefore  find  its  true  utterance  in  rhythmical 
words.  It  is  possible  here,  perhaps,  to  make  an  exception 
for  some  modern  plays  in  which  the  emotional  element  seems 
to  be  continually  and  consistently  repressed,  and  where 
consequently  prose  might  be  considered  a  more  fitting 
medium.  We  could  not,  for  example,  very  well  picture 
Strife  in  verse  form  as  it  stands  :  but  even  here  not  very 
much  can  be  said  for  non-rhythmical  utterance  in  serious 
drama.  Prose  undoubtedly  drags  the  play  in  which  it 
appears  down  overfar  into  the  levels  of  ordinary  life  ;  and 
even  in  dealing  with  such  a  theme  as  Strife  it  is  to  be  con- 
sidered whether  the  dramatist  would  not  have  been  well 
advised  to  lift  his  whole  conception  above  these  restricting 
92 


TRAGEDY 

levels.  Hardy's  The  Dynasts  is  an  example  of  a  similar 
theme  created  on  a  broader  plan,  the  actuality  of  the  forces 
being  lost  in  deeper  and  richer  considerations.  Strife  is  an 
interesting  drama,  but  it  is  not  high  tragedy.  It  never 
thrills  us  like  the  great  masterpieces  of  theatrical  art ;  and 
that,  it  v^^ould  appear,  is  due  almost  entirely  to  its  excessive 
actuality,  to  its  refusal  to  express  those  broader  truths,  those 
ultimate  ideas,  which  dominate  all  great  tragedy. 

The  Universality  of  Rhythm. — As  a  means  of 
raising  the  events  of  a  drama  above  the  levels  of  real  life, 
then,  and  as  the  natural  expression  for  emotion,  verse  claims 
the  close  attention  of  every  tragic  dramatist.  Before  he 
casts  off  verse,  possibly  because  of  some  hastily  conceived 
critical  theory,  he  must  consider  well  whether  verse  be  not 
one  of  the  necessary  and  integral  parts  of  true  drama,  or  at 
least  whether  in  abandoning  verse  he  will  not  have  to  give 
to  his  drama  other  serious  qualities  as  a  recompense  for  its 
loss.  Verse,  too,  has  other  forces.  The  figment  of  the 
music  of  the  spheres  has  at  least  a  symbolic  truth  about  it. 
Through  rhythm  and  melody  we  seem  to  reach  some 
universal  chords  of  human  feeling.  By  mere  rhythm  alone 
we  certainly  touch  vibrations  otherwise  impossible  of 
realization.  A  foreign  prose  work  may  be  unintelligible  to 
us,  but  a  foreign  symphony  will  be  interpreted  by  us  as 
easily  as  by  a  native  of  the  land  that  gave  it  birth  ;  and  even 
a  foreign  poem,  well  recited,  may  awaken  feelings  and  emo- 
tions in  our  hearts  beyond  the  unintelligibility  of  the  words. 
Rhythm,  after  all,  is  a  common  heritage;  it  strikes  deep  at 
primeval  and  general  instincts  of  mankind.  It  is,  more- 
over, not  confined  to  man  ;  it  is  universal  to  the  whole  of 
nature.  The  songs  of  the  birds  possess  a  melody  pleasurable 
not  only  to  themselves  but  to  humanity.  There  are 
symphonies  of  sounds  and  of  colours  appreciated  by  the 
entirety  of  the  natural  world.     Such  a  consideration  of  the 

93 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

force  of  verse  obviously  leads  us  back  to  our  primal  con- 
sideration of  universality.  Herein  lies  one  other  main 
means  of  securing  the  broader  atmosphere  demanded  by 
tragedy.  Verse  will  aid  not  only  in  removing  tragedy  from 
the  levels  of  actual  life,  but  in  giving  to  it  that  universality 
demanded  by  the  highest  art. 

Verse  as  a  Tragic  Relief. — Finally,  verse  may  be 
considered  as  a  species  of  tragic  relief.  This,  in  the  section 
devoted  to  the  spirit  of  tragedy,  has  already  been  tentatively 
hinted  at.  It  may  here  be  formally  stated  that  verse  un- 
doubtedly takes  away  some  of  the  horror  and  the  gloom 
and  the  despair  of  the  tragic  spirit.  Again  a  return  must 
be  made  to  that  word  '  sordid.'  When  we  speak  of  a  sordid 
tragedy  we  do  not  refer  so  much  to  the  subject-matter  as 
to  the  treatment  of  the  subject-matter,  to  the  lack  of  some- 
thing which  may  take  away  part  of  the  pain.  Verse,  in- 
troducing that  melody  which  is  but  symbolic  of  a  higher  and 
more  universal  symphony,  this  quality  of  lyricism,  is  probably 
among  the  greatest  of  the  relieving  media.  After  all,  the 
story  of  Othello,  if  it  were  told  in  plain  prose,  would  be  but 
a  sordid  story  of  a  faithful  wife  and  a  deceived  husband 
'  avenging  his  honour  ' ;  Hamlet  would  be  but  a  sordid  tale 
of  a  murdered  king  and  a  semi-incestuous  attachment.  The 
lyricism,  however,  with  which  these  plays  are  invested 
helps  to  raise  them  above  the  level  of  actuality,  and  to  relieve 
the  horror  which  otherwise  we  should  feel  in  them.  When 
Othello  comes  to  the  height  of  his  jealous  hate  and  enters 
staggering  and  blind  with  passion,  lago  looks  at  him,  and  his 
words  take  on  a  gorgeousness  of  colouring  that  is  surely 
intentional  on  Shakespeare's  part : 

Not  poppy,  nor  mandragora, 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world, 
Shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
Which  tliou  owcdst  yesterday. 
94 


TRAGEDY 

The  poetry  is  not  strictly  in  accord  with  lago's  character, 
although  Shakespeare  may  have  had  a  purpose  here,  too,  but 
it  is  in  accord  with  the  genuine  tragic  motif.  It  is  a  rush  of 
music  to  still  the  horror  and  pain  the  scene  might  otherwise 
have  aroused  in  our  hearts.  If  we  can  but  imagine  in  the 
place  of  these  lines  of  poetry  a  sneer  of  lago's  cynicism  we 
may  be  able  to  appreciate  their  value  and  force.  Possibly 
for  the  same  reason  may  have  been  introduced  that  remark- 
able speech  of  lachimo  in  Act  II,  Scene  ii,  of  Cymbeline  : 

'Tis  her  breathing  that 
Perfumes  the  chamber  thus  :  the  flame  o'  the  taper 
Bows  toward  her,  and  would  under-peep  her  lids, 
To  see  the  enclosed  lights,  now  canopied 
Under  these  windows,  white  and  azure  laced 
With  blue  of  heaven's  own  tinct.  .  .  . 

On  her  left  breast 
A  mole  cinque-spotted,  like  the  crimson  drops 
r  the  bottom  of  a  cowslip. 

Shakespeare  probably  realized  that  the  situation  he  had 
devised — the  innocent  girl  lying  in  her  bed,  the  cunning 
lachimo  issuing  from  his  trunk — was  both  improbable  and 
horrible.  It  was  horrible  because  of  the  meanness  and  the 
duplicity  shown  in  it ;  it  was  improbable  because  of  the 
sudden  heavy  sleep  of  Imogen,  necessary  for  the  develop- 
ment of  the  plot,  but  distinctly  unnatural.  To  counter  both, 
to  attract  the  attention  of  the  audience  and  to  allay  their 
suspicions  and  their  disgust,  he  bursts  into  lyrical  utterance, 
sacrificing  character  for  the  sake  of  dramatic  effect.  The 
same  phenomenon  may,  of  course,  be  discovered  in  many 
other  dramatists  apart  from  Shakespeare.  The  Greek 
dramatists  knew  of  the  device,  and  many  of  their  most 
poignant  and  most  terrible  scenes  are  clad  in  the  richest  of 
their  poetry.  In  later  days  Otway,  when  dealing  with  a 
particularly  terrible  theme  in  The  Orphan,  contrived  thus  to 

95 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

soften  and  relieve  the  pain  he  had  aroused.  The  last  scene 
of  the  fourth  act,  when  Monimia  learns  the  truth  from 
Polydore,  is  the  most  poetical  of  his  tragedy,  and  the  fifth 
act  opens  with  a  song. 

In  dispensing  with  verse,  therefore,  the  adherents  of  the 
prose  realistic  drama  appear  to  be  abandoning  a  legitimate 
method  of  securing  atmosphere  and  of  giving  pleasure. 
Verse  is  seen  to  be  not  merely  a  traditional  remnant  of  choral 
song  or  cathedral  chant ;  it  is  something  closely  connected 
with  the  inner  spirit  of  tragedy  itself.  If  verse  and  the 
opportunity  for  securing  lyricism  be  neglected  then  other 
qualities  must  be  deeply  stressed  in  an  endeavour  to  atone  for 
the  loss.  Occasionally  it  is  not  possible  so  to  stress  these 
other  qualities  ;  often  their  introduction  seems  unnatural 
and  strained.  The  ordinary  prose  tragedy  fails  partly  be- 
cause of  a  lack  of  melody,  partly  because  prose,  by  its  very 
nature,  prohibits  the  introduction  of  many  of  those  features 
which  in  the  poetic  drama  seem  but  natural  and  just. 


(iv)  THE  TRAGIC  HERO 

The  Importance  of  the  Hero. — So  far,  attention  has 
been  paid  to  the  final  aim,  to  the  medium  and  spirit  of 
tragedy;  there  remains  the  question  of  that  which  is  com- 
monly the  means  by  which  the  dramatist  expresses  both 
aim  and  spirit — the  tragic  hero. 

It  is  to  be  observed  that  commonly  tragedy  differs  from 
comedy  in  selecting  some  one  or  two  figures  who  by  their 
greatness  and  by  their  inherent  interest  dominate  the  other 
dramatis  persona.  There  may  be  comedies  where  one 
figure  so  absorbs  all,  or  nearly  all,  the  attention  of  the  audi- 
ence, but  such  comedies  are  both  rare  and  inclined  tq  approach 
toward  more  serious  realms.  We  have,  for  example,  some 
of  the  plays  of  Molicre,  VEtourdi  and  Le  Misanthrope 
96 


TRAGEDY 

especially,  and  the  Volpone  of  Ben  Jonson.  A  close  analysis 
of  the  atmosphere  of  these  comedies,  however,  would  reveal 
the  fact  that  they  are  slightly  abnormal. ^  They  appeal  not 
only  to  the  risible  faculties,  but  to  the  more  serious  part  of 
our  being  as  well.  They  draw  near,  that  is  to  say,  the 
dominion  of  the  tragic  spirit.  Normally,  comedy  of  any 
kind  depends  upon  interplay  of  character,  where  no  one  person 
is  of  so  much  more  importance  than  another  that  he  becomes 
a  solitary  hero.  This  fact  will  be  made  more  evident  by 
comparing  the  interest  of  the  tragedies  and  comedies  written 
by  Shakespeare,  as  typical  of  Elizabethan  output,  and  by 
Otway,  as  typical  of  Restoration  productivity.  In  Hamlet 
the  hero  stands  well-nigh  alone  ;  in  Lear  it  is  the  king  and 
Cordelia  who  absorb  nearly  all  the  attention  ;  in  Othello  it 
is  the  Moor  and  lago  ;  in  Macbeth  it  is  the  thane  and  his 
wife.  It  is  not  that  the  other  characters  are  badly  drawn, 
but  they  are,  from  the  point  of  view  of  construction,  given 
hardly  any  important  speeches,  and,  from  the  point  of  view 
of  characterization,  placed  on  a  level  far  below  the  principal 
figures.  A  reference  to  Shakespeare's  comedies  ma'"ks  the 
completely  different  conception.  Take  Much  Ado  about 
Nothing,  in  which  there  are  Claudio  and  Hero,  Benedick 
and  Beatrice,  Leonato  and  Antonio,  Dogberry  and  Verges  ; 
or  J  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  where  there  are  the  two 
pairs  of  lovers — Lysander  and  Hermia,  Demetrius  and 
Helena — the  fairies  Oberon  and  Titania,  and  the  artisans 
Bottom,  Quince,  and  their  company.  We  note  here  not 
only  that  the  characters  are  more  on  a  level,  none  assuming 
importance  far  above  the  others,  but  that  there  are  various 
quite  distinct  points  of  dramatic  interest.  The  tragedies,  on 
the  other  hand,  are  simpler  and  more  concentrated.  Otway's 
plays  present  much  the  same  features.  In  Venice  Preserved 
we  have  as  the  centre  of  interest  Pierre,  Jafficr,and  Belvidera, 
1  See  i>ifra,-pp.  145  ff. 

G  97 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

all  the  other  characters  being  subordinate  to  them  ;  in  The 
Orphan  the  attention  is  thrown  exxlusiv'ely  on  Polydore, 
Castalio,  and  Monimia.  The  Soulclier^s  Fortune,  on  the  other 
hand,  has  Captain  Beaugard  and  Courtine  and  Sylvia,  Sir 
Davy  and  his  wife,  Sir  Jolly  Jumble  and  the  servant  Fourbin  ; 
The  Atheht  has  old  Beaugard,  his  son  and  Porcia,  Courtine 
and  his  wife.  Daredevil  the  atheist,  Theodoret  and  Gratian. 
While  in  tragedy,  then,  the  interest  is  placed  on  one  or  two 
main  characters,  in  comedy  it  is  distributed  over  a  body  of 
diverse  figures.  It  is  because  of  this  that  we  may  discuss 
in  such  detail  the  character  of  the  hero  or  the  heroine  in 
tragedy,  whereas  in  comedy  such  a  discussion  would  lack  not 
only  value,  but  meaning.  Tragedies  often  are  called  after 
the  name  of  the  one  chief  figure — CEdipus  and  Medea  of 
Greek  times,  Hamlet,  Lear,  Othello,  Macbeth  of  Shakespeare, 
The  Orphan  and  The  Cenci  of  later  days — comedies  hardly 
ever.  It  is  the  hero  who  gives  significance  and  tone  to  a 
tragedy. 

The  Tragic  Flaw. — In  considering  this  tragic  hero 
we  may  begin  again  with  Aristotle.  Here  the  Greek  critic 
has  been  more  explicit  than  he  was  on  the  former  subjects 
already  dealt  with.  The  tragic  hero  for  him  is  "  a  person 
neither  eminently  virtuous  or  just,  nor  yet  involved  in  crime 
by  deliberate  vice  or  villainy,  but  by  some  reason  of  human 
frailty  [ht  afxapriav  rivd].'^  That  is  to  say,  the  tragic 
hero,  while  not  a  paragon  of  goodness,  must  in  Aristotle's 
opinion  have  noble  qualities  in  him,  but  he  must  have  at  the 
same  time  some  flaw  in  his  being,  derived  cither  from  ignor- 
ance of  affairs  beyond  his  knowledge  or  from  human  passion. 
Aristotle,  in  the  Poetics,  has  proceeded  to  indicate  a  couple 
of  lines  of  development^  in  the  presentation  of  this  hero, 
but  his  division  is  rather  logical  than  strictly  critical,  and 
we  may  find  the  characteristics  of  the  hero  in  tragic  drama 

^  There  is  a  third,  but  this  seems  hardly  to  lead  toward  tragedy. 
98 


TRAGEDY 

somewhat  more  extended,  both  in  Greek  and  in  modern 
works,  than  he  has  presented  them. 

Unconscious  Error. — There  is,  first  of  all,  as  Aristotle 
has  noted,  the  hero  who  acts  wrongly  through  an  unconscious 
error.  This  is  the  human  frailty  (dfiapria)  derived  from 
ignorance.  The  typical  example  (given  in  the  Poetics)  is 
the  CEdipus  of  Sophocles.  This  conception  of  the  hero  is 
distinctly  non-Shakespearian,  although,  in  a  modified  form, 
it  has  been  adopted  by  several  English  writers.  It  was 
a  legitimate  type  in  ancient  Athens  because  of  the  religion 
of  the  time,  but  with  the  loss  of  that  religion  it  appears 
slightly  out  of  place  and  can  be  treated  in  modern  times  only 
with  the  greatest  of  care.  A  resuscitation  of  the  hero  who 
errs  in  ignorance  is  visible  in  the  seventeenth-century  drama 
just  after  the  time  of  Shakespeare.  It  is  very  probable 
that  this  resuscitation  was  caused  by  the  strange  errors  of 
the  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  romantic  tragi-comedy,  which 
often  introduced  characters  who  acted  after  the  Greek 
model,  although  not  often  toward  tragic  ends.  At  the 
Restoration  the  type  found  a  magnificent  expression  in 
The  Orphan.  Here  one  of  the  two  heroes  commits  a  deed 
of  tragic  import  because  of  his  ignorance  of  a  certain  set  of 
facts,  the  only  departure  from  the  model  of  CEdipus  being 
that  the  crime  which  the  king  committed  was  in  itself  an 
odious  one,  even  allowing  for  his  ignorance  of  the  facts 
which  made  it  truly  tragic.  The  tragedy  certainly  arises 
from  the  fact  that  Polydore  did  not  know  that  Monimia 
had  married  his  brother  Castalio,  but  the  tragic  act  was  not 
carried  out  wholly  in  ignorance.  It  was  led  up  to  by 
Polydore's  lust,  a  genuine  afxaprla,  and  by  Castalio's  feigned 
libertinism.  We  have  thus  in  The  Orphan  a  play  of  two 
atmospheres  or  conceptions,  the  Greek  idea  being  modified 
by  the  more  modern  element  of  direct  human  frailty,  based 
not  on  a  mere   lack  of  knowledge.     While  dealing   with 

99 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

this  play,  The  Orphan,  it  may  be  noted  in  passing  that  this 
theme,  generally  thus  modified,  was  distinctly  popular  at 
the  time  of  the  Restoration,  and  has  appeared  sporadically 
in  later  drama  of  the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  centuries. 
It  is  responsible  for  all  the  '  Fatal  Marriages '  and  '  Fatal 
Innocencies  '  of  the  period  1660-1700,  just  as  it  is  respon- 
sible for  the  tragic  motive  of  Lillo's  The  Fata/  Curiosity  in 
the  mid-eighteenth  century.  One  may  expect  to  see  its 
recurrence  in  an  age  that  has  lost  some  of  the  religious 
feeling  that  swayed  the  Elizabethans,  although  possibly  the 
theme  is  too  bitter  and  too  poignant  to  permit  of  genuine 
tragic  passion  unless  treated  by  the  hand  of  a  genius. 

Conscious  Error. — There  is,  besides  this  type,  the  hero 
who  acts  wrongly  with  conscious  intent.  Aristotle  has 
noted  this  also,  instancing  the  example  of  the  Medea. 
Phaedra  in  the  Hippolytus  of  Euripides  and  the  same  character 
in  the  eponymous  play  of  Seneca  might  also  be  adduced  as 
similar  figures  from  the  Greek  and  Roman  drama.  This 
conception  was  adopted  by  Shakespeare  and  by  many  other 
Elizabethan  dramatists.  Macbeth  has  its  villain  hero; 
Othello  has  a  similar  central  figure,  although  here  the  tragedy 
has  characteristics  of  the  first  type  as  well.  The  crime  of 
the  Moor  springs  out  of  a  conscious  act,  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  was  misled  concerning  the  true  facts  of  the  case. 
In  the  presenting  of  a  character  of  this  stamp,  as  has  already 
been  pointed  out,  the  playwright  must  in  some  way  or 
another  display  clearly  the  horror  and  the  detestation  aroused 
by  the  crime  committed.  With  the  romantic  dramatists 
this  may  be  done  by  showing  a  change  of  character  after 
the  execution  of  the  deed  of  violence,  as  in  Macbeth. 
Perhaps  Shelley  had  the  same  idea  in  mind  when  he 
presented  the  peculiar  figure  of  Beatrice  Cenci.  With  the 
classical  playwrights,  on  the  other  hand,  the  abhorrence  can 
be  shown  only  immediately  before  or  immediately  after  the 
100 


TRAGEDY 

crime,  as  in  the  ^Eschylean  presentation  of  Orestes.  But 
where  there  is  no  expression  of  horror  and  detestation,  as  in 
the  Hippolytus  of  Seneca,  the  tragedy  inevitably  falls  to  a  plane 
of  lower  and  purely  melodramatic  creation,  for  tragedy,  as 
we  have  seen,  must  not  only  thrill  with  the  sense  of  awe,  but 
must  also  uplift  with  the  sense  of  majesty.  It  is  possibly 
the  absence  of  this  essential  which  takes  from  our  pleasure 
in  reading  or  in  seeing  The  Cenci.  In  spite  of  the  loud 
praises  of  the  Shelley- worshippers,  it  would  appear  that  in 
this  drama  there  is  not  that  high  feeling  and  nobility  of  soul 
which  is  present  in  the  works  of  Sophocles  and  Shakespeare. 
Shelley  fails  as  Ford  fails,  not  for  the  same  reasons  certainly, 
but  in  a  precisely  similar  manner. 

Thoughtless  Folly. — Besides  these,  the  types  noted  by 
Aristotle,  there  are  several  other  sub-varieties  of  the  tragic 
hero  presented  in  the  works  of  the  great  dramatists,  ancient 
as  well  as  modern.  The  Shakespearian  type  of  hero  who 
brings  disaster  on  his  own  head  through  some  thoughtless 
act  which  springs  from  his  own  character  is  scarcely  provided 
for  by  Aristotle,  and  perhaps  in  its  purest  form  does  not 
make  its  appearance  in  the  Greek  drama  at  all.  Lear 
hardly  commits  a  crime,  either  consciously  or  unconsciously, 
but  his  rejection  of  Cordelia  is  an  action  that  takes  its  rise 
directly  from  his  own  character  and  temper,  and  it  is  the 
immediate  cause  of  his  future  sufferings.  Coriolanus,  in  a 
similar  way,  passes  to  his  ruin  through  his  pride  and  his 
aristocratic  contempt — failings  that  make  him  lose  sight  of 
all  other  human  considerations.  So,  too,  Antony  is  lost 
in  his  love  and  goes  to  destruction  with  a  kiss  on  Cleopatra's 
lips.  Perhaps  the  Oreste  of  Racine's  Andromaque  might  be 
regarded  from  a  cognate  point  of  view. 

Impotence  and  Ambition  of  the  Hero. — Again,  there 
is  the  hero  who  is  faced  by  a  task  greater  than  his  powers. 
Here  we  have,  certainly,  a  '  human  frailty,'  but  it  is  one 

lOI 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

that  is  expressed  in  wrongful  action  of  no  kind  whatsoever. 
Hamlet  is  of  the  kin  neither  of  CEdipus  nor  of  Medea, 
We  can  realize  that  the  web  of  tragedy  which  envelops  him 
has  been  spun  from  his  own  personality,  that  his  hesitation 
and  delay  have  brought  about  an  almost  general  catastrophe  ; 
but  he  is  not  a  villain  in  any  sense  of  the  word,  and  he 
does  not  actively  precipitate  the  tragic  action. 

As  a  species  of  subdivision  of  what  may  be  called  the 
Hamlet  type  we  find  the  heroes  of  Marlowe.  In  Marlowe's 
plays,  certainly,  the  ambition  of  the  protagonists  brings 
about  their  ruin,  but  the  basis  of  the  tragic  action  appears 
to  lie  more  definitely  in  the  opposition  of  a  human  force  of 
extraordinary  dimensions  to  a  force  beyond  it  and  more 
powerful  than  it.  The  doom  of  the  hero  is  thus  again 
brought  about  by  a  human  frailty,  the  desire  for  knowledge 
or  for  "  dominion  infinite,"  but  the  tragedy  of  the  play  lies 
in  the  defeat  of  that  desire  by  supernatural  powers.  By  a 
slight  change  of  stress  from  the  typical  Greek  treatment  of 
the  theme,  the  Prometheus  of  Shelley's  play  approximates 
closely  to  this  Marlowe  type,  and  the  Cain  of  Lord  Byron 
has  the  same  characteristics. 

The  Flawless  Hero. — As  a  still  further  subdivision  of 
the  Hamlet  type  we  get  the  hero  who  is  presented  in  Romeo 
and  Juliet.  Here  there  is  not  an  atom  of  dross.  The  love  of 
Romeo  is  pure  and  passionate.  He  is  loftier  and  nobler  than 
his  companions.  He  is  in  all  ways  an  essentially  good  and 
honest  character  ;  yet  he  comes  to  ruin.  The  reasons  for  his 
destruction  lie  in  outward  circumstance.  There  have  been 
critics  who  have  decided  that  there  was  here  a  fatal  flaw,  that 
Romeo  and  Juliet  married  without  their  parents'  consent ;  ^ 

^  This  view  has  been  put  forward  by  Gervinus.  Dr  Smart  asserts 
that  an  innocent  hero  is  not  necessarily  ahen  to  tragedy.  Among  the 
examples  he  quotes  are  the  Gospels  and  Clarissa  Ilarlowe.  Apart 
from  the  fact  that  both  of  these  have  moral  or  religious  associations, 
it  seems  hazardous  to  argue  from  one  type  of  literature  to  another. 
102 


TRAGEDY 

but  this  In  our  hearts  we  know  to  be  false.  Romeo 
and  Juliet  could  have  acted  in  no  other  way  than  they 
did.  They  are  not  in  the  position  of  CEdipus,  ignorant 
of  the  meaning  of  their  own  actions  ;  they  go  into  their 
marriage  with  open  eyes,  but  fate  destroys  the  promise  of 
their  love.  This  type  of  hero,  as  Aristotle  saw,  was  not 
generally  suitable  for  tragedy.^  We  fail  to  sympathize  with 
the  ruthlessness  of  the  doom  meted  out  to  the  central  figure  ; 
and  it  may  be  confessed  that  Romeo  and  'Juliet  is  by  way  of 
being  a  tour  de  force,  where  the  poetry  and  the  vehemence 
of  the  youthful  love-passion  disarm  and  appease  us.  This 
tragedy  of  outward  circumstance  and  this  hero  of  inherent 
goodness  may  be  ruled  out  of  our  survey  of  the  fitting  themes 
for  high  tragedy.  Only  occasionally  has  it  been  attempted 
by  other  dramatists,  and  never  with  success.  It  is  because 
Don  Alvar  in  Coleridge's  Remorse  is  of  such  a  type  that 
this  tragedy  fails  to  grip  us  with  a  fitting  emotion. 

The  Hero  swayed  by  Two  Ideals. — As  a  completely 
separate  type,  although  one  that  has  certain  elements  in 
common  with  the  others  already  enumerated,  might  be 
taken  the  hero  who  is  torn  between  two  duties.  This,  to 
a  certain  extent,  is  but  a  variation  of  the  hero  who  acts 
wrongly  through  some  flaw  in  his  own  being,  the  only 
difference  being  that  he  is  faced  with  two  alternatives, 
neither  of  which  is  wholly  bad,  but  of  which  one  represents 
the  power  of  common  duty  and  law,  and  the  other  the  power 
of  passion  and  emotion.  Here  the  tragic  action  may  be 
brought  about  by  a  conscious  or  unconscious  deed  springing 
from  some  a^apria,  but  the  interest  of  the  play  lies  rather 
in  the  inner  struggle  between  two  desires  or  ideals  in  the 
mind  of  the  hero  than  in  the  wrong  action  committed. 
This  type  is  to  be  found  in  its  crudest  and  most  exaggerated 

1  It  has  been  pointed  out  by  Butcher  that  Antigone  is  largely 
flawless — e7ri€i/c7Jy,  to  use  Aristotle's  word. 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

form  in  the  heroic  tragedy  of  the  Restoration,  However 
dull  Dryden's  dramas  may  appear,  we  realize  that  there  are 
in  his  heroes  the  elements  of  tragic  greatness.  Examples  are 
to  be  discovered  likewise  in  the  rimed  tragedies  of  neo- 
classic  France.  The  type  dominates  nearly  all  the  dramatis 
persona  of  Racine,  sways  the  tragedies  of  Voltaire,  and, 
carried  thence,  appears  in  almost  every  classical  tragedy 
produced  in  England  in  the  eighteenth  century.  In  Shake- 
speare it  is  apparent  in  the  conception  of  Antony,  although 
a  comparison  of  Shakespeare's  drama  with  the  cognate  play 
of  Dryden,y^//  for  Love,  or  The  World  Well  Lost,  will  show 
how  Shakespeare  has  humanized  and  softened  the  too  sharp 
stress  of  the  conflict,  so  heavily  marked  in  the  Restoration 
tragedy.  This  type  of  hero,  obviously  fitted  to  convey  the 
highest  tragic  emotions,  has  been  carried  over  to  modern 
times,  and,  adapted  to  newer  conditions,  appears  as  noticeably 
now  as  it  did  in  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries. 

The  ^law  arising  from  Circumstances. —  Finally, 
there  is  perhaps  one  other  species  of  hero  that  might  be  con- 
sidered, again  a  subdivision  of  the  wrongly  acting  character. 
In  this  type  the  hero  accepts  a  life  of  crime  not  because  of 
some  flaw  in  his  being,  but  because  of  circumstances  which 
operate  harshly  against  him,  and  in  his  crime  he  remains 
honest  and  pure-souled.  A  typical  example  is  to  be  dis- 
covered in  Die  Rduber  of  Schillei'.  Here  Charles  de  Moor 
is  driven  to  become  an  outlaw  because  of  the  action  of  his 
father,  who  in  his  turn  has  been  cheated  by  the  younger  son, 
Francis  de  Moor.  It  is  Francis  who  is  the  villain,  who 
pursues  Amelia  and  immures  his  old  father  in  a  dungeon. 
Charles  becomes  the  instrument  of  vengeance,  liberating  his 
father  and  deciding  at  the  close  to  give  himself  over  to  justice. 
As  is  obvious,  this  type  owes  something  to  the  sentimental 
villain-heroes  or  '  good-bad  '  men  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
but  in  it  the  sentimental  note  is  raised  and  purified.  It  is 
104 


TRAGEDY 

distinctly  a  modern  conception,  and,  taken  over  by  the 
romantic  dramatists,  also  makes  its  appearance  in  a  number 
of  nineteenth-  and  twentieth-century  plays. 

The  Position  of  the  Hero  in  the  Play. — Before 
passing  from  these  definite  types  of  heroes,  it  may  be  noted 
that  beyond  their  several  varieties  there  are  two  very  differing 
positions  which  any  of  these  may  hold  in  the  plays  in 
which  they  appear.  Any  of  these  heroes  may  be  placed  in  a 
tragedy  either  in  an  active  or  an  inactive  capacity.  There  is, 
on  the  one  hand,  the  hero  who  sways  the  whole  course  of 
the  drama.  Orestes  thus  dominates  both  the  tragedies  of 
iEschylus  and  of  Alfieri ;  Macbeth  is  the  motive  force  in 
Shakespeare's  play.  Here  almost  everything  that  happens 
on  the  stage  arises  out  of  the  thoughts  and  the  emotions  of 
the  hero  himself.  Hardly  any  other  character  may  be  said 
to  influence  the  development  of  the  plot.  There  is,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  hero  who,  like  Lear,  is  "  more  sinned  against 
than  sinning."  Lear  gives  the  initial  motive-power  tp  the 
play  in  which  he  appears,  but  that  first  scene  when  he 
apportions  his  kingdom  is  almost  a  prologue,  and  in  a  non- 
romantic  drama  would  assuredly  have  been  told  to  the 
audience  by  narration.  After  it  is  over  Lear  is  wholly 
acted  against.  The  conduct  of  the  piece  passes  entirely 
out  of  his  hands  into  the  hands  of  his  daughters.  This 
latter  position  of  the  hero  has  been  but  sparingly  utilized 
by  the  greater  dramatists,  because  of  the  sense  it  gives  of 
the  powerlessness  of  the  hero  himself.  It  was  only  a 
Shakespeare  who  could  present  a  Lear  majestic  and  exalted 
in  the  midst  of  his  affliction  and  misery. 

The  Twin  Hero. — One  other  consideration  must  also 
be  touched  upon.  In  some  dramas,  particularly  of  the 
Elizabethan  period,  there  is  not  merely  one  hero,  but  two, 
and  the  tragic  emotion  arises  out  of  the  clash  or  conflict 
of  their  personalities.     Who  shall  we  say  is  the  hero  of 

105 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Othello  ?  Othello  himself,  until  the  very  last  act,  does 
absolutely  nothing  ;  it  is  lago  who  drives  the  plot  forward 
and  attracts  nearly  all  the  attention  of  the  play.  In  this 
tragedy  we  seem  to  see  indeed  two  chief  figures :  lago  by 
a  terrible  a/jbapria  engaged  in  a  grim  game  of  deceit,  and 
Othello  by  a  different  species  of  human  frailty  moving 
slowly  onward  to  his  destruction  ;  this  is  not  a  mono-hero 
play  such  as  is  Hamlet  or  Lear.  The  same  situation  arises 
in  Fenlce  Preserved  and  in  The  Orphan.  Jaffierand  Pierre 
are  both  heroes,  and  the  misery  and  the  awe  in  the  play 
arise  out  of  both  the  weakness  of  the  former  and  the  ruth- 
lessness  of  the  latter.  In  The  Orphan  a  tragic  situation 
could  not  have  been  developed  out  of  either  Polydore  or 
Castalio  alone.  It  is  when  they  are  put  in  juxtaposition 
that  they  are  brought  to  destruction  and  misery. 

The  Heroless  Tragedy. — l^his  tragedy  from  the  clash 
and  conflict  of  two  heroic  personalities  has  seen  a  marked 
development,  with  many  variations,  in  our  modern  period. 
With  the  passing  away  of  the  Elizabethan  stress  on  character, 
noted  above,  there  has  been  a  tendency  toward  dramas 
lacking  any  apparent  hero  or  heroes,  where  the  tragic  action 
and  the  tragic  atmosphere  spring  rather  from  the  conflict 
of  diverse  characters,  none  of  which  is  a  central  figure,  or 
from  the  social  forces  surrounding  those  characters.  A 
hero  (or  heroes)  is  truly  present,  but  it  is  a  hero  unseen. 
Who  precisely  is  the  hero  of  Justice  ?  It  is  not  the  pitiful, 
weak-willed  clerk  ;  he,  in  himself,  would  not  be  tolerable 
for  a  moment  in  a  tragedy.  Who  is  the  hero  of  Strife  .? 
It  is  neither  the  leader  of  the  men  nor  the  leader  of  the 
masters,  'ihere  is  not  in  either  play  one  single  figure,  not 
one  single  pair  of  figures,  which  looms  up  sufficiently  large 
to  take  predominating  importance  in  our  minds,  and  we 
have,  therefore,  no  hero  or  heroes  in  the  older  sense  of  the 
word.  The  place  of  the  hero  is  taken  by  an  unseen  force  : 
1 06 


TRAGEDY 

the  tragedy  is  not  the  tragedy  of  a  person  or  persons,  but 
the  tragedy  of  a  system.  The  chief  protagonists  are  not  men 
and  women  at  all,  but  social  conventions,  abstract  forces  which 
move  over  and  around  the  dramatis  per sonce.  It  is  Strife  that 
is  the  hero  of  Strife,  and  Justice  that  is  the  hero  of  Justice. 

This  tendency  is  visible  everywhere  in  modern  tragic 
productivity,  not  only  in  these  definitely  heroless  dramas, 
but  in  those  tragedies  where  some  attempt  has  been  made  to 
present  an  outstanding  central  figure  of  some  kind  or  another. 
In  these  latter  there  is  nearly  always  evidenced  a  desire  on 
the  part  of  the  dramatist  to  soften  the  sense  of  independent 
individuality.  Abraham  Lincoln  is  an  historical  play  with 
one  central  figure,  but  Lincoln  is  carefully  made  into  a 
symbol  of  something  apart  from  himself.  He  is  hardly  a 
man  as  the  Henrys  and  the  Richards  of  Shakespeare  were 
men  ;  he  is  a  force  symbolized  in  a  man.  So  Mary  Stuart, 
in  the  hands  of  former  dramatists,  was  a  tragedy  of  person- 
ality. With  Drinkwater  it  has  become  a  drama  of  a 
particular  class  of  temperament,  symbolizing  in  the  Scots 
queen  a  class  ever  at  war  with  social  forces  and  with  social 
ideals  whether  in  the  sixteenth  century,  in  ancient  Egypt, 
or  to-day.  So  obviously  did  Drinkwater  desire  to  emphasize 
this  point  that  he  has  not  let  this  Mary  Stuart  drama  stand 
by  itself.  The  prologue  has  been  introduced  for  no  other 
purpose  but  to  display  the  fact  that  Mary  is  connected  in 
spirit  with  our  own  days,  that  she  was  no  unique  personality, 
but  stands  as  a  high  symbol  of  a  certain  type  of  mind  and  of 
soul.  Probably  no  clearer  example  could  be  found  of  the 
tendencies  of  present-day  art  and  thought. 

The  Heroine. — This  presentation  of  Mary  Queen  of 
Scots  carries  us  to  the  question  of  the  presentation  in  tragedy 
of  the  heroine.  Already  it  has  been  noted  that  tragedy 
differs  from  comedy  in  being  often  almost  entirely  masculine. 
The  use  of  the  words  masculine  and  feminine  is,  of  course, 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

fraught  with  peculiar  difficulties,  for  they  may  refer  not  only 
to  the  sexes,  but  to  the  qualities  which,  in  past  centuries, 
have  been  associated  with  the  sexes.  Thus  we  may  say 
that  Tamhurlaine  is  a  purely  masculine  play  because  it 
introduces  hardly  any  woman  character ;  but  at  the  same 
time  we  may  say  that  Macbeth  is  masculine  because,  although 
Lady  Macbeth  is  one  of  the  main  forces  in  the  drama,  she 
is  not  of  that  type  of  mind  which  we  usually  call  feminine. 
The  connotations  of  these  words,  obviously,  have  changed 
considerably  during  the  last  few  generations,  but,  reservations 
being  made,  they  may  be  utilized  thus  to  signify  spirits  and 
temperaments  of  differing  values. 

Tragedy,  it  was  said,  differed  from  comedy  in  that  it 
might  often  be  wholly  masculine  ;  this  statement  might  be 
carried  still  fiirther  and  take  the  form  of  a  pronouncement 
that  tragedy  almost  invariably  stresses  the  masculine  at  the 
expense  of  the  feminine  elements.  The  reason  for  this  is 
quite  evidently  the  hardness  and  sternness  which  we  have 
already  noted  in  the  highest  tragic  art.  The  central  figure, 
then,  of  all  great  tragedies  will  be  a  man,  or  else  a  woman 
who,  like  Lady  Macbeth  or  Iphigenia  or  Medea,  has  in  her 
temper  some  adamant  qualities  and  severity  of  purpose  not 
ordinarily  associated  with  the  typically  feminine.  The 
feminine  element,  on  the  other  hand,  is  rarely  lacking  in 
any  great  tragedy;  its  absence  mars  the  dramas  of  Marlowe. 
This  feminine  element,  however,  does  not  often  have  any 
great  influence  on  the  development  of  the  play  directly, 
although  indirectly,  by  influence  on  the  mind  of  the  hero,  it 
may  have  much.  Ophelia  is  thus  a  weak,  wholly  inactive 
character,  yet  it  is  evidently  her  death  which  changes 
Hamlet  from  a  man  of  deep  philosophy  and  of  profound, 
if  unrealized,  purpose,  into  a  careless  creature,  for  whom 
nothing  is  of  any  consequence  or  interest.  In  the  same 
way  Desdemona  plays  no  direct  part  in  Othello  \  she  is 
io8 


TRAGEDY 

essentially  feminine,  weak,  deceptive,^  purposeless,  and  thus 
does  not  actively  forward  the  plot.  Only  indirectly,  by 
her  influence  upon  Othello,  does  she  carry  on  the  tragic 
movement.  Cordelia  in  Lear  is  of  more  importance,  but 
she  shares  with  Lady  Macbeth  certain  qualities  which  we 
commonly  call  masculine ;  she  is,  in  many  ways,  simply 
a  replica  (more  hastily  sketched  in,  it  is  true)  of  her  father. 
The  corollary  to  this  truth  is  seen  in  those  dramas  begun 
by  Banks  in  the  middle  of  the  Restoration  period  and  con- 
tinued by  Rowe  and  others  in  the  eighteenth  century.  These 
'  she-tragedies,'  as  sometimes  they  have  been  called,  have 
rarely  an  atom  of  tragic  greatness,  although  some  of  them  are 
affecting.  Vertue  Betrafd,  or,  Anna  Bullen  of  Banks,  The 
Tragedy  of  Jane  Shore  of  Rowe,  and  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots 
of  St  John,  are  all  pathetic  and  touching,  but  they  are  not 
tragedies.  They  never  reach  that  sternness  of  maj  esty  which 
is  an  inevitable  concomitant  of  this  highest  type  of  literature. 
It  is  this  insistence  on  the  feminine,  and,  along  with  the 
feminine,  the  pathetic,  which  has  marred  the  plays  of 
Fletcher,  Webster,  and  Ford  ;  it  is  partly  this  which  takes 
away  from  the  grandeur  of  Fenice  Preserv'd and  The  Orphan  ; 
it  is  this  which  has  led  several  modern  dramatists,  misled 
by  sentimental  notions,  hopelessly  astray.  The  feminine  in 
high  tragedy,  we  may  repeat,  must  either  be  made  hard, 
approaching  the  masculine  in  quality,  or  else  be  relegated  to 
a  position  of  minor  importance  in  the  development  of  the 
plot.  The  only  exception  to  this  lies,  possibly,  in  those 
heroless  plays  already  referred  to,  where  the  tragedy  arises 
not  so  much  out  of  individual  characters  as  out  of  the  clash 


1  The  word  deceptive  is  deliberately  employed  here.  For  me 
the  tragedy  of  Othello  rises  out  of  the  deception  and  self-deception 
of  the  chief  characters,  and  Desdemona,  by  her  deception  of  her 
father,  by  her  deception  of  her  husband,  and  by  her  last  pitiful 
deception  of  those  who  witnessed  the  final  tragedy,  stands  related 
to  the  general  atmosphere  and  purpose  of  the  play. 

109 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

of  varying  temperaments  and  the  operation  of  social  or 
external  circumstances ;  and  even  here  the  atmosphere  of 
loftiness  and  hardness  must  be  preserved. 


(v)  TYPES  OF  TRAGEDY 

Features  of  Greek  Tragedy. — In  thus  analysing  the 
characteristics  of  drama  from  ^Eschylus  to  modern  days,  all 
the  main  types  of  tragedy  have  been  touched  upon.  There 
would  remain  here,  therefore,  little  more  to  do  than  to  sum 
up  some  of  the  results  which  have  been  obtained,  as  these 
particularly  apply  to  the  tragic  endeav^our  of  the  various  ages. 
As  practically  none  of  the  main  types  of  tragic  endeavour 
is  unrepresented  in  English,  it  may  be  well  to  confine  all 
remarks  here  to  the  development  of  tragedy  in  this  country, 
with  but  occasional  reference  to  the  practice  of  other  lands. 

(a)  The  Chorus. — Of  the  Greek  drama  much  has  been 
said  and  written,  and  the  details  of  its  technique  and  develop- 
ment need  not  here  be  entered  into.  There  is  much  that 
is  permanent  in  the  tragedies  of  i^schylus,  Sophocles,  and 
Euripides,  but  there  is  also  much  that  has  a  purely  temporary 
value.  The  chorus,  for  example,  is  essentially  an  incidental 
feature.  It  is  part  of  the  traditional  origin  of  the  Greek 
stage,  and  in  the  hands  of  Euripides  it  was,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  relegated  to  a  subordinate  position.  That  it  was  not 
necessary  for  the  expression  of  true  tragic  emotion  has  been 
proved  not  only  by  the  romantic  genius  of  Shakespeare,  but 
by  the  classical  genius  of  Racine.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  chorus  marked  that  lyrical  quality  in  tragedy  which 
later  iconoclasts  were  inclined  too  recklessly  to  neglect.  The 
spirit  of  the  chorus,  that  of  which  it  was  the  expression,  is  a 
permanent  thing,  well-nigh  necessary  in  all  high  tragedy, 
but  the  form  of  the  chorus  is  purely  temporary  and  topical. 

(b)  The    Unity   of  Action. — The    unities,   also,   present 

I  ID 


TRAGEDY 

features  of  a  similar  tendency.  The  unity  of  action,  in 
its  stricter  sense,  is  absurd  ;  in  its  broader  sense  it  is  a  rule 
from  which  no  great  dramatist  may  ever  swerve.  It  is 
noticeable  that  all  our  greatest  dramas  have  been,  as  it  were, 
concentrated.  The  passion  of  Othello,  the  storm-like  sweep 
of  Macbeth,  allow  of  hardly  any  incidentals.  The  emotion 
is  pent  into  one  small  compass,  and  seems  to  gain  strength 
and  power  therefrom.  In  general,  we  shall  find  that  the 
romantic  dramatists  have  eschewed  to  a  large  extent  the 
violent  use  of  sub-plot  in  tragedy ;  when  they  did  utilize 
it  they  generally  failed.  Lear  is  the  only  tragedy  of  Shake- 
speare where  there  is  anything  of  a  clearly  marked  under- 
plot of  this  description,  and  the  play  has  been  noted  by 
the  critics  as  being  more  epic  than  dramatic  in  structure, 
as  being  truly  unactable  on  the  stage.  The  sub-plot  of 
marked  individuality  appears  only  in  the  romantic  comedies 
and  tragi-comedies  of  the  Elizabethan  era,  and  accords  with 
the  looser  structure  and  the  more  diffused  emotions  (not 
truly  tragic)  of  these  dramas.  The  unity  of  action  accords 
with  the  hardness,  the  restricted  passion,  and  the  concentrated 
emotion  demanded  by  tragedy. 

(c)  The  Unity  of  Time. — The  unity  of  time  has  also  its 
permanent  importance.  Ridiculous,  certainly,  are  the  dis- 
quisitions of  those  critics,  Italian,  French,  and  English,  who 
strove  to  determine  whether  the  action  of  a  tragedy  should 
be  of  three,  or  six,  or  twelve,  or  twenty-four  hours.  The 
literal  application  of  the  rules  has  no  value  for  the  modern 
stage,  and  had  but  a  small  value  for  the  stage  of  the  Greeks  ; 
yet  when  Aristotle,  in  contrasting  the  epic  with  tragedy, 
stated  that  the  latter  "  endeavours,  as  far  as  possible,  to  con- 
fine its  action  within  the  limits  of  a  single  revolution  of  the 
sun,  or  nearly  so,"  he  was,  indeed,  delving  deeply  into  the 
essentials  of  tragic  composition.  The  Greek  dramas  are 
mostly  thus  confined,  and  even  in  Shakespeare's  plays  we 

III 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

find  at  least  an  endeavour  to  cheat  us  into  believing  that  the 
action  is  swift  and  tempestuous,  to  accord  with  the  violent 
nature  of  the  tragic  emotion.  In  Hamlet,  after  the  events 
of  the  two  days  embraced  in  Act  I,  Scenes  i  to  v,  there  is 
actually  an  interval  of  a  couple  of  months,  as  again  there  is 
a  space  of  a  week  between  Act  IV,  Scene  iv,  and  Act  IV, 
Scene  v  ;  but  no  spectator  or  reader  feels  this  extension  of 
time.  Hamlet  seems  to  move  rapidly  on  from  the  first 
visitation  of  the  ghost  to  the  final  catastrophe.  If  the 
intervals  are  realized  they  merely  make  the  play  appear  like 
a  tale  told  in  a  prologue  (Act  I),  a  set  of  three  acts  (II-IV), 
and  an  epilogue  (Act  V).  Othello  has  a  structure  similar  to 
that  o^  Hamlet.  Act  I  is  confined  to  a  day.  Then  comes 
the  voyage.  Acts  II  and  III  take  up  a  couple  of  days,  and 
then,  after  the  interval  of  a  week,  there  are  Acts  IV  and  V. 
Here  again,  however,  in  spite  of  the  division  into  prologue, 
two  acts,  and  epilogue,  there  is  a  swiftness  suggested  which 
makes  us  forget  the  actual  time  analysis.  Macbeth  and  Lear 
are  more  extended,  and  in  them,  precisely  because  of  this, 
we  find  a  certain  weakness  not  apparent  in  the  other  two 
tragedies.  In  Macbeth  the  interest  is  sustained  at  white 
heat  up  to  the  murder  of  Duncan,  is  carried  on  in  a  way  till 
after  the  death  of  Banquo,  and  then  rapidly  declines,  although 
Shakespeare  by  his  poetry  makes  strenuous  efforts  to  revive 
our  flagging  attention.  The  murder  of  Duncan  occurs  in 
Act  II,  Scene  ii;  Act  II,  Scene  iii,  is  the  scene  of  the  dis- 
covery. Banquo  is  murdered  in  Act  III,  Scene  iii,  and  his 
ghost  appears  in  Act  III,  Scene  iv.  On  studying  such 
indications  as  Shakespeare  has  left  to  us  of  the  time  duration 
of  this  play,  we  find  that  a  long  interval  occurs  just  after  the 
death  of  Duncan  and  that  thereafter  there  is  a  continual 
series  of  intervals  throughout  Acts  IV  and  V.  These 
intervals  cannot  be  concealed  by  Shakespeare  as  he  concealed 
those  oi  Hamlet  and  oi  Othello,  and  our  waning  interest  must 

112 


TRAGEDY 

in  part  be  attributed  to  them.  The  structure  of  Lear,  as 
we  have  seen,  is  inclined  to  be  epic,  and,  as  such,  although 
when  read  it  may  have  an  added  grandeur,  yet  when  seen  in 
the  theatre  it  has  not  the  effect  of  the  other  three.  It  is 
only  when  we  come  to  the  romantic  tragi-comedies,  however, 
that  we  get  the  really  violent  breaking  of  this  unity.  The 
long  sixteen  years'  leap  between  the  acts  of  The  Winter^ s  Tale 
would  have  been  impossible  in  a  high  tragedy ;  it  would 
have  completely  dispelled  that  closely  concentrated  emotion 
which  it  is  the  business  of  tragedy  to  present  to  us. 

{d)  The  Unity  of  Place. — The  unity  of  place  has  quite 
obviously  more  in  common  with  the  Greek  than  with  the 
modern  romantic  stages,  yet,  again  for  the  preservation  of 
the  peculiar  atmosphere  of  tragedy,  there  must  be  but  little 
shifting  of  scenery  if  we  are  to  keep  the  true  tragic  spirit. 
To  Shakespeare,  on  his  bare  and  unadorned  stage,  change 
of  place  meant  nothing  ;  but  for  us  to-day  with  our  scene- 
shifters  and  our  machinists  the  unity  of  place  has  a  peculiar 
value.  As  long  as  our  minds  and  our  eyes  are  distracted 
from  the  genuine  development  of  the  play,  so  long  will  we 
fail  to  appreciate  to  the  full  the  meaning  and  the  emotion 
of  the  dramatist.  Swift  change  of  place  suggests  longer 
duration  of  time,  and  duration  of  time  acts  directly  counter 
to  the  true  tragic  spirit.^ 

{e)  The  Stage. — The  Greek  drama  and  its  conventions, 
therefore,  may  have  much  to  tell  us.  Even  from  the  con- 
jectures of  the  most  absurd  of  the  neo-classic  critics  there 
may  be  gained  genuine  elements  of  dramatic  truth.  The 
main  difference,  however,  between  the  Greek  theatrical  world 
and  that  of  to-day  does  not  lie  in  the  chorus  or  in  mere 

^  There  is  a  certain  tendency  in  very  modern  times  to  increase 
the  stage  settings.  This  may  partly  be  attributed  to  tlie  influence 
of  the  cinema,  and  has  been  warmly  advocated  by  the  futurist 
Marinetti.  It  may  be  noted  that  only  the  unities  of  action  and 
time  are  mentioned  by  Aristotle. 

H  113 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

dramatic  technique,  but  in  the  stage  ;  and  a  consideration 
of  the  Greek  theatre,  capable  of  holding  30,000  spectators, 
raises  at  once  the  problem  as  to  the  most  suitable  medium  for 
the  presentation  of  tragedy.  On  the  one  hand  there  is  this 
vast  amphitheatre,  with  the  actors  far  removed  from  the 
audience,  with  no  opportunity  for  scenic  effects,  and  on  the 
other  there  is  the  theatre  inttme,  where  a  small  body  of 
spectators  is  brought  into  close  contact  with  the  actors,  and 
where  scenic  effects  can  be  employed  and  illusions  of  all  kinds 
created.  The  true  answer  to  this  problem  would  seem  to  be 
that  both  the  theatre  inttme  and  the  Greek  amphitheatre  can 
produce  fine  plays,  each  of  separate  and  quite  distinct  beauty  ; 
but,  at  the  same  time,  there  is  something  of  vastness  and 
of  majesty  in  the  plays  produced  on  the  Greek  stage  which 
is  impossible  in  the  plays  written  for  a  theatre  intime.  There 
may  be  delicacy  in  the  latter ;  there  may  be  more  poignant 
and  subtle  situations  ;  there  will  certainly  be  more  intricate 
character-drawing  ;  but  there  will  usually  be  lacking  the 
statuesque  effect,  the  grandeur,  and  the  exalted  tone  of  the 
other.  History  has  shown  to  us  that  the  finest  dramas  have 
been  produced  for  heterogeneous  audiences — the  aristocrats 
and  the  artisans  of  Athens,  the  apprentices  and  the  peers  of 
Elizabethan  England.  Where  the  audiences  tend  to  break 
into  separate  groups,  where  the  theatre  is  patronized  not  by 
all,  but  by  a  class,  then  the  drama  produced  for  that  theatre 
becomes  weak  and  effeminate.  Drama,  it  would  appear, 
is  not  wholly  a  thing  of  pleasure  in  its  highest  forms ;  in 
the  ages  when  the  theatre  is  merely  a  place  of  amusement, 
to-day  and  in  Restoration  England,  then  the  average  play- 
writing  is  poor  and  uninformed.  Only  in  the  periods  when 
the  theatre  mingled  pleasure  with  some  species  of  reflection, 
some  humanitarian,  national,  or  religious  ideal,  was  fine 
drama  produced.  ^Eschylus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides  reflect 
the  age  of  Periclean  Athens  ;  Shakespeare  reflects  the  age 
114 


TRAGEDY 

of  Drake  and  of  Raleigh  ;  Schiller  and  Ibsen  reflect  the  age 
of  broader  ideals.  Disillusionment  gave  birth  to  the  plays 
of  the  later  seventeenth  century  and  to  the  plays  of  to-day. 
The  theatre  intime  is  the  result  of  the  desire  of  one  class  to 
abstract  itself  from  the  rest,  to  divorce  the  highest  drama  from 
the  whole  of  humanity.  It  would  seem  that  the  hope  of  a 
genuine  dramatic  revival  lies  rather  in  the  elevating  of  the 
tone  of  the  vaster  theatres  than  in  the  attempt  on  the  part 
of  some  of  our  dramatic  enthusiasts  to  further  the  theatre 
of  the  refined  and  circumscribed  audience. 

The  Greek  drama,  therefore,  teaches  us  that  while  mere 
slavish  imitation  of  past  models  can  lead  toward  nothing  but 
dull  and  ineffective  productivity,  romantic  dramatists  may 
be  wrong  in  throwing  over  entirely  the  precepts  and  the 
example  of  the  classicists.  While  it  may  be  admitted  that, 
with  the  exception  of  Milton's  Samson  Agonistes  and  Shelley's 
Prometheus  Unbound  (a  dramatic  poem  rather  than  a  drama), 
there  is  no  readable  imitation  of  the  Greek  drama  in  England, 
and  while  it  may  also  be  admitted  that  in  details  of  dramatic 
technique  the  Greek  drama  has  nothing  to  teach  us,  we  must 
nevertheless  realize  that  there  are  elements  of  permanent 
dramatic  truth  not  only  in  the  works  of -^schylus,  but  in  the 
apparently  ridiculous  theories  of  a  Castelvetro  and  a  Rymer. 

Early  Elizabethan  Tragedy. — The  next  type  of 
tragedy  which  we  have  to  note  is  the  tragedy  of  the  earlier 
Elizabethans,  a  type  by  itself  in  however  many  diverse 
forms  it  might  be  expressed.  The  first  tragedies  produced 
in  England  which  can  be  deeply  analysed  are  those  of 
Shakespeare,  but  Shakespeare's  achievement  was,  as  is  well 
known,  raised  upon  the  previous  and  less  exalted  endeavours 
of  his  predecessors,  and  this  fact  renders  a  glance  at  the 
history  of  the  development  of  the  tragic  idea  in  England  abso- 
lutely necessary  here.  In  England,  as  in  Greece,  the  drama 
sprang  out  of  the  religion  of  the  people.     By  innumerable 

115 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

gradations  it  moved  forward  to  the  vast  cycles  of  the 
mystery  and  miracle  plays.  Moralities  then  took  their 
rise,  probably  with  the  development  of  more  professional 
companies  of  actors.  These  moralities,  again  by  innumer- 
able gradations,  passed  into  forms  that  approached  toward 
truer  dramatic  shape,  and  then,  grafted  on  to  the  new 
growth  of  humanistic  sentiment,  developed  ultimately  into 
the  marvellous  flourish  and  fruit  of  the  Elizabethan  stage. 
With  this  development  went  a  corresponding  progress  in 
the  conception  of  the  tragic  spirit.  For  the  Middle  Ages 
tragedy  was  essentially  a  falling  from  happiness  or  great 
estate  into  unhappiness  or  misery.  Chaucer's  lines  from 
the  Monk's  prologue,  already  quoted,  express  summarily 
the  typical  medieval  view.  Dante's  great  poem  was  a 
"  divine  comedy,"  because  it  passed  from  the  torments  of 
Hell  to  the  happiness  of  Heaven.  Thus,  for  the  Middle 
Ages,  tragedy,  as  dealing  with  persons  of  high  degree,  with 
"  him  that  stood  in  greet  prosperitee,"  harmonized  exactly 
with  the  Aristotelian  idea  that  tragedy  should  deal  with  the 
hero  of  "  high  fame  and  flourishing  prosperity."  At  the 
same  time  there  arose  almost  unconsciously  the  feeling  that 
tragedy  should  deal  with  these  exalted  deeds  and  persons  in 
an  exalted  manner ;  hence  verse  in  some  form  came  to  be 
the  natural  concomitant  of  all  true  tragedy,  and  this,  likewise, 
joined  forces  with  the  verse  plays  of  Seneca  and  with  the  then 
less  well-known  verse  plays  of  ancient  Greece.  So  far  the 
Athenian  and  the  medieval  ideals  coalesced.  Medieval 
criticism,  however,  had  one  peculiarly  characteristic  feature  : 
it  expressed  in  the  most  extreme  form  the  moral  attitude 
toward  literature.  Swayed  by  strictures  against  the  drama 
and  indeed  against  all  poetry  which  found  expression  from 
the  time  of  the  Fathers  of  the  Church  to  that  of  Girolamo 
Savonarola,  it  attempted  everywhere  to  discover  some 
utilitarian  end  for  every  type  of  art  and  every  piece  of 
ii6 


TRAGEDY 

artistic  workmanship.  Moral  considerations,  therefore, 
met  with  the  new  humanistic  ideals,  and  developed  a  type 
of  literary  criticism  confused  and  heterogeneous,  but  none 
the  less  influential  upon  the  development  of  dramatic  litera- 
ture. This  clash  is  to  be  seen  most  clearly  in  the  pronounce- 
ments of  some  of  the  late  sixteenth-century  theorizers. 
"  Tragedy,"  says  Puttenham,  who  may  be  taken  as  a  repre- 
sentative of  many  others,  "  deals  with  the  doleful!  falls  of 
unfortunate  and  afflicted  Princes,  for  the  purpose  of  reminding 
men  of  the  mutability  of  fortune  and  of  God's  just  punish- 
ment of  a  vicious  life."  Here,  in  this  one  sentence,  we  iind 
ideas  culled  from  ancient  Greece  and  from  medieval  Europe 
mingled  together  and  confused  with  no  sense  of  their  inherent 
incongruity.  There  is  the  Aristotelian  idea  of  magnitude  ; 
there  is  the  medieval  idea  of  fall  from  happiness  into  unhappi- 
ness ;  there  is  the  pagan  idea  of  fortune  ;  and  there  is  the 
Christian  idea  of  moral  punishment.  The  confusion  is 
interesting  and  valuable,  because  from  just  such  a  confusion 
grew  the  drama  of  the  Elizabethans. 

As  regards  the  general  idea  of  tragedy  at  this  time,  we 
may  sum  up  briefly  by  saying  that,  in  the  belief  of  all,  tragedy 
consisted  in  the  fall  of  the  great ;  that  all  were  agreed  as  to 
the  advisability  of  having  five-act  dramas  (Horace  here  is 
responsible,  and  Seneca)  ;  that  all  were  convinced  of  the 
value  of  a  poetic  form  for  tragedy ;  that,  consciously  or 
unconsciously,  no  one  would  have  denied  the  necessity  for 
a  '  moral '  in  all  tragedies  ;  and  that,  perfectly  unconsciously, 
the  conflict  of  the  old  moralities  was  operating  on  the  minds 
of  the  critics  and  the  dramatists  toward  the  stressing  of  an 
element  neglected  to  a  large  extent  in  the  Greek  drama. 
Apart  from  these  general  suppositions  and  beliefs,  the 
classicists  parted  company  from  the  popular,  so-called 
romantic,  playwrights.  Whereas  the  classicists  held  for  the 
three  unities,  the  popular  playwrights,  looking  to  native 

117 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

example,  disdained  or  violated  them  ;  whereas  the  classicists, 
with  Sidney,  regarded  tragi-comedy  as  a  '  mongrel '  creation, 
the  popular  dramatists,  looking  back  to  the  crude  admixture 
of  sadness  and  mirth  in  the  mysteries,  patronized  this  form 
above  all  others ;  whereas  the  classic  dramatists  and  critics, 
following  Horace,  cried  for  declamation  and  for  decorum,  the 
popular  writers  strove  to  stress  action,  to  make  their  tragedies 
vigorous,  to  deny  nothing  to  the  eyes  of  the  spectators. 

The  Senecan  influence  had  been  working  in  Europe  years 
before  it  passed  to  England.     As  early  as  1315  was  penned 
the  Eccerlnis  of  Albertino,  a  Latin  drama  modelled  on  the 
strict   Roman   form.      In   151 5  came  the  Italian  Sofonisba 
of  Trissino.     By   1559,  however,  there  had  appeared  in 
England  the  first  translation  of  a  Senecan  drama,  and  it  is 
from  about  this  year  that  we  can  trace  the  growth  of  the 
classical   species   here.     Sackville   and    Norton's    Gorboduc 
was  acted  only  two  years  later,  in  January   1562.     This 
Gorboduc,  the  first  regular  English  tragedy,  is  the  initiator  of 
a  long  line  of  Senecan  dramas,  chill  and  uninteresting,  but 
valuable  to  us  because  of  their  variations  from  the  strict  norm, 
Gorboduc  has  a  native  mytho-historical  theme,  not  a  classical 
subject,  and  the  structure  is  closer  to  the  old  chronicle 
history  manner  than   to   the   Roman   type.      Love  passion 
was  introduced  into  the  composite  Gismond  of  Salerne,  and 
a   native   note  into   Thomas   Hughes'    The  Misfortunes  of 
Arthur.      In  these  plays  the  unities  are  commonly  broken, 
and  English  historical  or  quasi-historical  themes  are  treated 
as  well  as  stories  borrowed  from  Italian  novelle,  but  the  whole 
is  set  in  a  framework  of  rigid  and  impossible  declamation, 
and  every  turn  of  the  plot  is  coloured  by  the  medieval  idea 
of  a  moral  aim.     There  is  the  confusion  here  in  creative  art, 
such  as  it  is,  which  was  visible  in  the  critical  pronouncement 
of  Puttenham  quoted  above. 

Meanwhile,  playwrights  who  had  been  tutored  in  the 
118 


TRAGEDY 

morality  tradition  were  attempting  in  some  crude  manner  to 
adapt  that  tradition  to  other  themes  and  other  styles.  Most 
of  these  early  plays,  such  as  Edwardes'  Damon  and  Pithias, 
R.  B.'s  Aphis  and  Virginia,  and  Preston's  Cambises,  are 
"  lamentable  tragedies,  mixed  full  of  pleasant  mirth." 
Shakespeare  in  later  years  might  make  fun  of  those  crude 
attempts,  but  in  them  lay  the  stepping-stones  of  tradition  from 
the  productions  of  medieval  days  to  his  own  works.  Often 
not  much  of  the  morality  tradition  has  been  lost  in  these 
primitive  dramas,  but  there  are  hints  at  the  future  develop- 
ment of  the  species.  Nearly  every  one  of  them  possesses  its 
Vice  and  its  personifications,  but  at  the  same  time  there  is 
visible  an  endeavour  to  create  something  more  in  keeping 
with  the  newer  age  than  anything  that  had  gone  before. 

Along  with  this  native,  or  semi-native,  development  of 
crude  tragedy  we  must  also  note  the  development  of  the 
chronicle  history,  often  with  elements  serious  and  tragic. 
Even  from  very  early  times  there  had  been  a  tendency  in 
the  morality  to  substitute  for  a  pure  abstraction  some  typical 
and  well-known  royal  figure.  Bale's  King  Johan  is  a  good 
example  of  this.  From  the  presentment  of  history  for  the 
object  of  enforcing  a  moral  lesson  to  the  presentment  of 
history  in  and  for  itself  was  obviously  but  a  step.  Although 
one  Latin  history  play,  the  Ricardus  Tertius  of  Thomas 
Legge,  is  thoroughly  Senecan  in  manner  it  is  perfectly 
obvious  that  Senecan  methods  would  hardly  harmonize  with 
the  freer  development  of  the  events  of  a  king's  reign.  History 
evidently  demanded  a  more  natural  and  less  trammelled 
mode  of  expression.  In  dealing  with  a  king's  career  little 
could  be  concealed,  and  it  was  inevitable  that  the  unities 
should  be  broken.  As  history,  moreover,  was  never  wholly 
tragic,  and  as  thus  high  and  low  tended  to  appear  in  the  one 
play,  the  impulse  given  to  the  development  of  tragi-comedy 
in  such  works  as  Pikeryng's  Horestes  or  Preston's  Cambises 

119 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

was  here  deeply  strengthened.  With  the  rise  of  patriotic 
sentiment  in  the  latter  half  of  the  sixteenth  century,  these 
history  plays  became  exceedingly  popular,  and  even  although 
they  do  not  belong  to  the  strict  tragic  type  they  must  be 
duly  taken  into  consideration  when  we  are  dealing  with  the 
elements  which  went  to  make  up  the  Elizabethan  drama. 

In  all  of  these  various  primitive  types  we  see  a  struggle, 
sometimes  conscious,  but  more  commonly  unconscious, 
toward  the  attainment  of  a  truly  national  and  truly  unified 
drama.  No  one,  however,  had  apparently  considered  care- 
fully what  would  suit  the  tastes  of  the  age.  The  classicists 
were  severe  and  unwilling  to  depart  overfar  from  their 
ancient  laws  and  precepts,  even  if  here  and  there  they  had 
to  make  concessions  to  popular  predilections ;  the  other 
dramatists,  although  they  occasionally  borrowed  hints  from 
Seneca,  were  rough  and  unformed  in  their  conceptions  and 
in  their  manner.  It  is  now  perfectly  obvious  that  the  only 
hope  for  the  rise  of  a  national  drama  lay  in  a  conscious  union 
of  the  two  forces,  the  native  elements  providing  variety  and 
vitality,  the  classical  elements  providing  unity  and  har- 
monious construction ;  but  this  fact  may  not  have  been  so 
apparent  to  the  critics  and  the  playwrights  of  the  age. 
Dramas  like  the  anonymous  Locrine  and  Selimus  seemed 
to  be  tending  in  the  right  direction,  but  they,  too,  were 
unformed,  and  it  was  left  to  the  University  Wits  to  make 
the  classical  tragedy  popular  and  the  popular  tragedy  unified 
in  construction  and  conscious  of  its  aim. 

Many  of  these  University  Wits  confined  their  work  to 
comedy,  and  hence  may  barely  be  mentioned  here;  although 
to  them  all,  comedy  writers  and  tragedy  writers  alike,  is  due 
the  development  of  a  freer  and  a  sweeter  blank  verse  ;  while 
to  Lyly,  who  wrote  only  fantastic  comedies,  we  owe  the 
introduction  of  a  finer,  if  conceited,  prose  style,  and  to 
Greene  and    Lyly  alike    those   delicate    romantic-realistic 

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TRAGEDY 

portraits  of  women  which  were  taken  over  by  Shakespeare 
in  his  early  years  and  were  later  modified  by  him.  By 
the  time  that  these  University  Wits  appeared  the  London 
world  was  ripe  for  the  origination  of  the  new  drama.  The 
private  shows  at  the  Inns  of  Court  and  elsewhere  still 
continued,  and  were  to  continue  till  the  closing  of  the 
theatres  in  1642,  but  the  centre  of  theatrical  interest  was 
now  the  professional  actors,  playing  in  regular  theatres 
modelled  partly  on  the  old  inn-yards  where  formerly  they 
had  performed,  partly  on  the  old  mystery  platform-stage, 
and  partly  on  the  Roman  amphitheatres. 

The  audience  was  now  a  mixed  body  of  spectators, 
embracing  all  classes  from  the  courtiers  to  the  rudest  ground- 
lings, all  passionate  and  all  accustomed  to  sights  of  blood, 
all  demanding  a  rich,  full-blooded  drama,  and  all  prepared, 
with  the  fiery  enthusiasm  born  of  the  Renascence,  to  listen 
to  the  finest  outbursts  of  poetical  frenzy,  but  not  prepared, 
under  any  consideration,  to  witness  anything  artificial  or 
stilted.  The  actors  were  men  of  the  one  histrionic  profession, 
bent  on  making  a  livelihood  and  determined  to  sacrifice  no 
opportunity  of  gain  by  adhering  to  theoretical  prejudices, 
classical  or  otherwise.  The  stage  conditions  were  medieval, 
admitting  ample  change  of  scenery,  allowing  for  the  episodic 
treatment  of  themes,  if  that  should  be  deemed  necessary. 
Already,  even  in  the  Inns  of  Court  performances,  it  had  been 
amply  proved  that  the  unities  in  their  stricter  forms  were 
not  in  English  taste,  and  that  Renascence  enthusiasm  and 
passion  had  burst  aside  the  fetters  of  the  more  precise 
humanistic  movement.  The  stage  conditions,  likewise, 
which  permitted  this  multitude  of  shifting  scenes,  demanded 
a  long  description,  which  the  audience  would  willingly  listen 
to  only  when  it  was  couched  in  the  fullest  of  poetical  forms. 
From  the  presence  among  the  actors  of  famous  clowns, 
added  to  the  vital  tradition  of  the  medieval  Vice,  influenced 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

too  by  the  general  atmosphere  of  the  primitive  English 
liturgical  drama,  came  the  demand  for  tragi-comedy. 
Tragedy,  pure  tragedy,  could  be  produced  only  when  it  was 
of  a  bombastic,  exaggerated  kind,  so  thrilling  and  so  gripping 
the  imaginations  of  the  spectators  that  they  would  be  willing 
to  sacrifice  for  a  time  that  mirth  which  for  them  seasonably 
spiced  the  most  serious  of  plays. 

Marlowe. — The  man  who,  as  is  well  known,  finally 
established  the  tragic  type  in  England  was  Christopher 
Marlowe.  In  his  works,  crude  in  construction  as  they 
appear  when  set  in  comparison  with  Shakespeare's  later 
triumphs,  we  find  for  the  first  time  a  conscious  striving  to 
reach  a  form  of  tragedy  that  should  be  not  so  amorphous  and 
so  purposeless  as  the  previous  attempts  in  classical,  popular, 
or  chronicle  history  styles.  Marlowe's  dramas  fall  naturally 
into  two  groups  :  the  first,  consisting  of  Tamburlaine,  Dr 
Faustus,  and  perhaps  The  Jew  of  Malta,  stands  apart  from 
the  later  Edward  II,  a  history  play  which  shows  a  quite 
separate  tragic  aim.  It  is  the  first  group  that  is  of  paramount 
importance  as  forming  a  type  of  tragedy  by  itself,  hardly 
touched  in  its  pure  form  by  any  other  writer. 

The  first  point  we  note  about  these  early  dramas  is  that 
their  authors  have  all  drunk  deeply  of  a  source  unknown  to 
the  preceding  dramatists.  //  Principe  of  Macchiavelli  had 
appeared  at  Florence  in  the  year  1513,  and  from  the  date  of 
its  publication,  in  an  ever-increasing  wave  of  admiration  and 
of  abuse,  its  fame  and  notoriety  spread  through  Europe.  In 
England  Marlowe,  because  of  his  independent  and  almost 
rebellious  attitude  toward  life,  was  one  of  the  first  to  embrace 
its  doctrines  and  the  doctrines  which  had  sprung  from  it. 
Macchiavelli  had  made  a  god  oivirtit,  expressing  in  imperish- 
able prose  that  desire  and  that  ambition  which  had  operated 
in  almost  every  Italian  state,  raising  humble  condottieri  to 
principalities  and  dukedoms,  and  retaining  them  there  by 
122 


TRAGEDY 

diverse  selfish  and  cynical  actions.  Macchiavelli  had  denied 
all  morality  except  that  morality,  if  so  it  may  be  called,  which 
operated  for  the  good  of  the  individual  man.  There  is  no 
action  too  ignoble  for  him  to  condemn,  in  his  advice  to  his 
prince,  so  long  as  it  leads  toward  making  his  position  in  the 
state  more  secure.  Marlowe  probably  had  in  him  some  of 
this  dominating  egoistic  power,  and  it  is  this  that  he  has 
fixed  on  in  his  first  three  tragedies.  There  is  an  element  of 
conviction  in  the  prologue  to  The  Jeiv  of  Malta  which  rings 
true  ;  the  lines  have  been  written  by  one  who  sincerely 
believed  in  the  principles  of  The  Prince  : 

And  let  them  know  that  I  am  Machiavel, 

And  weigh  not  men,  and  therefore  not  men's  words. 

Admired  I  am  of  those  that  hate  me  most.  .  .   . 

I  count  religion  but  a  childish  toy, 

And  hold  there  is  no  sin  but  ignorance.  .  .   . 

...  Of  the  poor  petty  wights 
Let  me  be  envied  and  not  pitied  ! 

This  Macchiavellian  strain  may  not  have  been  taken  up 
in  its  purer  form  by  later  dramatists,  but  great  elements  of 
it  served  to  enter  into  the  structure  of  many  of  the  major 
Elizabethan  tragedies.  It  presents  the  quality  of  boldness 
and  of  strength  which  was  demanded  on  the  English  stage. 

yirtit,  will,  ambition,  call  it  what  we  please,  always  tends 
to  overlook  class.  The  majority  of  the  Italian  dukes  and 
princes  of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries  were  base- 
born  men  who  had  won  their  positions  by  sheer  personal 
merit,  confidence,  or  villainy.  In  Marlowe's  dramas, 
similarly,  the  heroes  are  not  of  the  class  that  had  formerly 
appeared  in  tragedy.  Tamburlaine  is  certainly  a  king  when 
we  see  him  on  the  stage,  but  he  has  been  raised  to  empire 
from  mere  peasanthood.  Barabas  is  only  a  money-lender, 
and  Faustus  is  an  ordinary  German  doctor.  Thus  the  old 
medieval  conception  of  tragedy  as  the  descent  from  greatness 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

to  misery  was  being  supplanted  by  the  Renascence  ideal  of 
individual  worth.  The  more  ancient  tradition  continued  to 
endure  for  centuries,  but,  as  in  the  dramas  of  Shakespeare, 
it  was  being  modified  gradually  by  the  Marlovian  ideal. 

In  the  same  way,  we  find  in  Marlowe's  tragedies  a  change 
in  the  tragic  aim.  The  kernel  of  his  dramas  lies  not  so 
much  in  the  falling  of  a  great  person  from  happiness  as  in 
the  struggle  of  some  brave  ambitious  soul  against  forces  too 
great  for  it.  The  moral  conception  of  tragedy  for  Marlowe 
was  gone.  The  whole  interest  centres  on  the  one  person- 
ality ;  the  attention  of  spectators  and  of  readers  is  fixed  on 
that  personality  and  on  the  greatness  and  nobility  which  is 
connected  with  it.  Tamburlaine  is  obviously  the  master  of 
those  about  him.  Faustus  is  one  in  whose  hands  infinite 
knowledge  has  been  put.  The  Jew  moves  as  a  kind  of 
super-mind  among  a  mass  of  puppets  whose  lives  he  sways 
continually.  There  is  the  same  sense  of  intellectual  majesty 
in  all  Marlowe's  heroes  which  is  to  be  felt  in  Hamlet. 

There  are  several  other  striking  departures  on  Marlowe's 
part  from  contemporary  procedure,  one  of  the  most  impor- 
tant being  his  more  poetical  use  of  blank  verse ;  but  with 
these  we  need  not  deal.  One  other  point,  however,  may  be 
noted ;  and  that  is  the  tremendous  advance  which  he  made  in 
Dr  Faustus  in  his  conception  of  an  inner  struggle  as  bearing 
a  great  part  of  the  tragic  interest.  There  is  no  struggle  in 
the  soul  of  Tamburlaine  nor  in  the  soul  of  Barabas,  but 
what  makes  Dr  Faustus  really  great  is  the  hint  at  conflict- 
ing desires  within  the  mind  of  the  hero.  Here  it  may  not 
be  uninteresting  to  observe  that  of  all  Marlowe's  dramas 
Dr  Faustus  comes  nearest  in  conception,  character,  and 
plan  to  the  older  moralities.  In  it  we  can  trace  the  union 
of  the  morality  with  the  new  Renascence  ideals,  all  modified 
a  trifle  by  reminiscences  of  Seneca.  From  this  union  later 
tragedy  was  to  spring. 
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TRAGEDY 

Marlowe,  of  course,  has  many  weaknesses,  some  due  to 
his  own  youth,  some  due  to  the  fact  that  he  was  a  pioneer 
who  had  to  hew  out  a  way  for  himself  without  any  master 
to  guide  or  stay  him.  In  structure  he  is  decidedly  of  the 
older  age,  inheriting  the  native  chronicle  tradition  of  separate 
episodes  loosely  strung  together.  Tamburlaine,  after  all, 
is  not  really  a  drama  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word  ; 
it  is  merely  a  dramatized  semi-epic  of  one  man's  fate. 
Dr  Faustus  is  marred  as  a  tragedy  by  its  detached  nature  ; 
it  is  simply  a  string  of  odd  scenes  connected  inorganically 
together.  The  Jew  of  Malta  lacks  balance  entirely, 
although  how  far  this  may  have  been  due  to  later  '  improve- 
ments '  is  not  now  determinable.  A  more  serious  defect  in 
all  Marlowe's  early  dramas  is  the  absence  of  subordinate 
characters.  All  Marlowe's  persons,  by  their  very  greatness, 
stand  alone.  They  have  no  one  to  fight  against.  They  are 
lonely  figures  set  in  a  world  of  Lilliputians,  with  the  gods 
alone  as  their  masters.  The  only  drama  of  Shakespeare's 
which  to  any  extent  presents  this  phenomenon  is  Hamlet, 
but  even  here,  although  no  character  but  Hamlet  rises  to 
tragic  proportions,  there  are  dramatis  persona  of  interest 
and  of  individuality.  Even  more  noticeable  is  the  lack  in 
Marlowe  of  women  characters.  In  the  typical  Renascence 
attitude  expressed  by  the  dukes  and  the  princes  of  Italy  in 
social  life,  by  Macchiavelli  in  philosophy,  and  by  Marlowe  in 
drama,  there  was  but  little  place  for  women.  Women  were 
winning  their  way  to  an  independent  life  in  the  time  of  the 
Renascence,  actively  through  the  work  of  persons  as  diverse 
as  Vittoria  Colonna  and  Veronica  Franco,  theoretically 
through  the  women  characters  of  drama,  but  the  philosophy 
and  the  attitude  toward  life  expressed  by  a  Macchiavelli 
and  by  a  Marlowe  were  distinctly  masculine  in  character. 
Marlowe  shared  not  at  all  the  spirit  of  Greene  and  of  Lyly. 
Zenocrate  in  Tamburlaine  is  but  a  figurehead  ;   no  women 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

but  the  Duchess  and  Helen  enter  into  Dr  Faustus  ;  Abigail 
in  The  Jeiu  of  Malta  is  little  more  than  a  shadow.  It  has 
already  been  seen  that  tragedy  is  more  masculine  than  comedy, 
and  that,  moreover,  there  can  be  great  tragedies  with  an 
almost  entirely  masculine  cast.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
study  of  great  drama  will  prove  to  us  that  while  the  general 
temper  of  a  tragedy  is  masculine  women  figures  tend  to 
make  the  atmosphere  of  a  play  more  natural  and  general, 
and  that  the  consistent  elimination  of  women  in  the  works  of 
Marlowe  proves  in  him  a  lack  of  sympathy  with  the  whole 
of  life.  Combined  with  this  lack  of  interest  in  women 
characters  is  Marlowe's  complete  lack  of  a  comic  spirit. 
The  comic  portions  of  Dr  Faustus  are  inexpressibly  dull,  and 
those  of  The  Jew  of  Malta  rise  little  above  buffoonery. 
Tamhurlaine,  the  very  type  of  his  art,  serious  throughout  and 
masculine  in  conception,  lacks  at  once  that  contrast  and 
relief  which  is  presented  in  the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare. 

The  general  spirit  of  the  Marlovian  dramas,  then,  is  of 
tremendous  historical  importance.  That  conception  of  Re- 
nascence virtiX  battling  onward  to  success  and  then  falling 
unconquered  before  fate  gave  to  English  tragedy  a  theme 
of  greatness  and  strength  which  before  was  wanting  in  it. 
Marlowe's  drama  is  an  inhuman  drama,  but,  before  Shake- 
speare could  arise,  men  had  to  be  taught  to  look  for  this 
strength  and  purpose  in  tragedy.  On  the  other  hand,  all  of 
these  early  dramas  of  Marlowe  can  be  regarded  as  little  more 
than  experiments.  They  are  not  truly  great ;  they  merely 
point  the  way  toward  the  greatness  of  the  future.  By  reason 
of  their  limitations,  by  reason  of  their  lack  of  structural 
power,  above  all  by  reason  of  their  want  of  more  subtle 
characterization,  they  fall  below  the  level  of  true  tragedy. 

Shakespeare. — With  Shakespeare  we  move  upon  another 
plane.  The  Shakespearian  type  of  tragedy  has  not  been  taken 
over  in  its  entirety  by  many  dramatists,  largely  because  of 
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TRAGEDY 

the  vastness  of  its  conception,  but  it  forms  a  species  of 
drama  which  has,  in  parts,  found  many  imitators,  and 
which  has  exercised  an  incalculable  influence  on  all  suc- 
ceeding English  tragic  endeavour.  In  speaking  of  this 
Shakespearian  type  of  tragedy  we  must  confine  ourselves 
almost  entirely  to  the  four  major  dramas.  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  as  we  have  seen,  stands  apart,  as  being  a  tragedy  of 
fate  and  of  outward  circumstance.  The  major  dramas  are 
all  formed  on  another  plan,  borrowing  elements  now  from 
Seneca,  now  from  Marlowe,  and  now  from  the  more  primi- 
tive native  English  plays.  It  may  be  noted  in  regard  to  these 
four  plays  that  although  they  have  all  elements  in  common 
they  seem  all  to  be  in  the  nature  of  experiments.  Hamlet 
is  peculiar  in  having  but  one  figure  of  tragic  magnitude  ; 
Othello  in  being  formed  on  a  peculiar  plan  and  in  dealing 
largely  with  intrigue ;  Lear  in  reverting  technically  to  the 
chronicle  history  tradition  and  in  adopting  an  actionless  hero ; 
and  Macbeth  in  transforming  a  villain  into  a  hero.  In  all 
of  these  dramas,  however,  there  are  features  which  bind 
them  together  into  one  group.  In  every  one  there  is  an 
outer  and  an  inner  tragedy,  the  outer  sometimes  working 
in  direct  contrast  to  the  inner.  The  outer  tragedy  is  laid 
down  on  lines  of  the  utmost  sensationalism,  dealing  with 
murder  and  torture  and  bloodshed  ;  the  inner  tragedy  is 
quieter  and  more  poignant,  involving  usually  a  struggle 
between  emotion  and  intellect,  or  between  emotion  and  traits 
of  character  which  have  arisen  out  of  habit  and  custom.  So 
in  Hamlet  it  is  a  struggle  between  the  emotion  of  revenge, 
and  perhaps  also  of  love,  warring  against  a  certain  quality 
which  Hamlet  himself  names  as  "  religion  "  and  which  we 
might  call  moral  scruple  ;  in  Othello  it  is  passionate  love 
warring  against  jealousy  ;  in  Lear  it  is  petty  pride  warring 
against  a  tenderer  sympathy  ;  in  Macbeth  it  is  kingly  ambi- 
tion warring  against  the  emotions  that  have  arisen  out  of 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

conscience.  The  same  phenomenon  is  visible  likewise  in 
Antony  and  Cleopatra  and  in  Coriolanus. 

Apart  from  this,  the  two  most  noticeable  characteristics 
of  the  Shakespearian  type  are  the  hint  at  supernatural  forces 
operating  unseen  but  surely,  and  the  peculiar  relationship 
which  the  hero  bears  to  his  surroundings.  The  super- 
natural element,  which  is  displayed  in  its  crudest  form  in 
Hamlet  and  Macbeth,  is  weakest  in  Othello,  which  approaches 
toward  the  domestic  type,  but  even  there  it  is  delicately 
marked.  In  all  the  tragedies  it  is  hinted  at,  yet,  as  we 
have  seen,  rarely  enunciated  in  a  deliberate  manner.  The 
relationship  of  the  hero  to  his  surroundings,  however,  is  the 
definitely  characteristic  mark  of  the  Shakespearian  species. 
All  Shakespeare's  heroes  are  set  in  positions  where  they  and 
they  alone  cannot  battle  with  fate.  Hamlet,  the  "  religious  " 
and  the  lover,  doomed  to  set  the  world  aright ;  Othello, 
stupid  and  unintellectual,  fiery  in  his  passions,  set  opposite  to 
lago  ;  lago,  unscrupulous  and  clever,  literally  tempted  by 
Othello's  imbecility  ;  Lear,  conceited  and  proud,  unobservant 
and  credulous,  faced  by  his  evil  daughters  and  by  Cordelia  ; 
Macbeth,  emotional  and  weak,  yet  ambitious,  met  by  the 
witches  and  goaded  on  by  his  wife ;  Lady  Macbeth,  hard 
and  self-seeking,  confronted  by  temptation  ;  Coriolanus, 
overweening  in  his  pride,  condemned  to  stoop  to  plebeians ; 
Antony,  amorous  and  doting,  met  by  Cleopatra ;  all  of  these 
are  placed  in  the  exact  situation  which  they  are  incapable 
of  mastering.  Put  Hamlet  in  Othello's  place  or  Othello  in 
Hamlet's  and  there  would  have  been  no  tragedy,  either  of  the 
Shakespearian  type  or  any  other.  It  is  this  almost  fatal 
confronting  of  the  hero  with  forces  beyond  his  strength  that 
marks  the  tragedy  of  Shakespeare. 

Heroic  Tragedy. — As  is  evident,  the  heroic  tragedy  of 
the  Restoration  is  but  an  exaggeration  of  many  of  the  elements 
we  have  noted  above  as  characteristic  of  the  Shakespearian 
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TRAGEDY 

species,  with  the  omission  of  this  fatal  relationship  between 
the  hero  and  his  surroundings.  Here  also  there  is  clearly 
marked  the  outer  drama  and  the  inner,  the  inner  being  again 
a  struggle  between  emotion  (restricted  to  the  one  emotion 
of  love)  and  intellect  (narrowed  down  to  duty),  as  well  as  the 
lofty  nature  of  the  hero  of  the  tragedy,  while  supernatural 
aids  to  the  drama  are  by  no  means  lacking.  The  heroic 
tragedy  needs  little  comment  in  a  work  that  professedly  deals 
most  largely  only  with  the  finer  species  of  dramatic  produc- 
tivity, but  the  fact  that  it  is  thus  a  normal  development  of 
earlier  English  tragic  types  gives  it  a  peculiar  historical  and 
even  critical  value  of  its  own. 

Horror  Tragedy. — More  important  intrinsically  is  the 
horror  tragedy  patronized  by  Webster  and  Ford,  This 
horror  tragedy  will  be  found,  on  examination,  to  approximate 
very  closely  to  the  comedy  of  intrigue,  for  in  both  the  appeal 
to  the  audience  is  made  not  by  means  of  the  dramatis  personcs, 
but  by  means  of  incident  on  the  stage.  This  horror  drama 
is  not,  of  course,  a  strictly  separate  species,  for  elements  of 
horror  may  enter  into  tragedies  of  quite  a  different  type,  as 
in  Hamlet  and  in  Lear  ;  but  it  stands  apart  in  having  all  or 
most  of  the  stress  on  the  outward  elements  with  whatsoever 
there  may  be  of  inner  tragedy  closely  interwoven  with  and 
depending  upon  the  stage  sensationalism.  Horror  from 
situation  and  incident  thus  dominates  The  Duchess  of  Malfi^ 
Vittor'ia  Corombona ,  and  The  Broken  Heart,  three  plays  which 
may  be  taken  as  characteristic  of  the  species.  Here  there 
may  be  something  of  an  inner  struggle,  ending  disastrously, 
but  that  is  not  the  prime  point  of  interest  in  any  of  these 
dramas.  Our  attention  is  captured  entirely  by  the  develop- 
ment of  the  plot  itself.  The  thrill  of  awe  and  of  majesty 
hardly  comes  from  any  direct  words  or  phrases,  but  from  the 
incidents  and  from  the  situations  in  which  the  characters 
are  involved. 

I  129 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Domestic  Tragedy. — The  domestic  tragedy  stands 
apart  from  all  these  types,  not  because  of  stress  on  one  element 
or  another,  but  because  of  its  subject-matter  and  its  special 
tone.  In  dealing  with  this  species,  it  must  be  noted  that  the 
domestic  tragedy  can  take  one  of  two  lines  of  development, 
the  first  leading  toward  true  tragedy,  and  the  second  descend- 
ing to  a  position  similar  to  that  of  the  sentimental  drama. 
Tragedy,  as  we  have  seen,  requires  some  atmosphere  of 
what  may  be  called  majestic  grandeur,  and  this,  in  many 
domestic  plays,  is  entirely  lacking.  The  London  Merchant,  for 
example,  could  never  for  a  moment  be  associated  with  the 
high  tragedies  of  any  age  of  literary  history,  because  of  its 
lowered  and  uninspiring  tone.  On  the  other  hand,  many 
of  the  nineteenth-century  dramas  of  a  domestic  type  have 
about  them  a  note  which  raises  them  above  the  level  of  the 
workmanship  of  Lillo's  play.  We  may  admit,  as  we  shall 
see,  the  sentimental  dramas,  the  drames,  to  an  honourable 
place  in  the  history  of  theatrical  productivity,  but  these 
domestic  dramas  of  a  lowered  tone  have  attempted  to 
achieve  something  which  it  is  outside  the  power  of  tragedy 
to  treat.  We  may  include,  therefore,  in  the  types  of  high 
drama  (i)  plays  of  the  true  tragic  spirit,  majestic  and 
awe-inspiring,  (2)  plays  of  the  true  comic  spirit,  fanciful  and 
witty,  and  (3)  serious  happy-ending  plays  of  a  lowered  tone  ; 
but  we  must  regard  as  failures  those  domestic  dramas  which, 
attempting  to  gain  the  height  of  tragedy,  lack  altogether  the 
sternness  and  grandeur  of  tragedy.  One  of  the  points  which 
have  been  shown  up  most  clearly  in  this  analysis  into  dramatic 
productivity  is  that  there  are  certain  laws  and  characteristics 
in  all  great  drama  which  no  dramatist  may  transgress  with 
impunity.  There  is  an  aim  proper  to  tragedy,  an  aim  proper 
to  comedy,  an  aim  proper  to  the  serious  drame  \  a  confusion 
of  these  aims  or  the  attempting  of  one  aim  in  the  medium 

of  another  leads  only  to  failure  or  to  mediocrity. 

130 


Ill 

COMEDY 

IN  dealing  with  the  subject  of  comedy,  an  attempt  will 
here  be  made  to  carry  an  investigation  along  the  lines 
already  laid  down  in  the  treatment  of  tragedy,  partly  for 
the  purpose  of  discovering  the  points  of  connexion  between 
tragedy  and  comedy,  partly  for  the  purpose  of  stressing 
the  different  aims  and  methods  of  these  two  dramatic 
species.  While  our  main  concern  here  will  be  with  pure 
comic  productivity,  it  will  be  necessary  at  least  to  glance 
at  the  intermediate  group  of  serious  plays  which  seem  to 
belong  neither  to  the  one  class  nor  to  the  other,  and  also  at 
that  other  group  of  dramas  which  are  more  properly  styled 
tragi-comedies,  in  which  tragic  and  comic  motives  meet 
and  mingle.  Even  when  we  are  discussing  the  purely  comic 
species  these  two  groups  must  always  be  kept  in  mind. 

(i)  UNIVERSALITY  IN  COMEDY 

The  Supernatural. — As  in  tragedy  there  was  a  sharp 
distinction  between  melodrama,  dramatized  tales,  and  what 
may  be  styled  high  tragedy,  so  in  the  kindred  realm  of 
comedy  there  is  a  line  of  demarcation,  slighter,  it  is  true, 
and  less  to  be  appreciated  by  spectator  or  by  reader,  between 
a  merely  amusing  play  and  what  may  be  called  fine  comedy. 
Moreover,  just  as  in  tragedy  this  raising  of  tone  was  secured 
mainly  by  the  element  of  universality,  brought  about  by  one 
means  or  another,  so  in  fine  comedy  universality  seems  ever 
to  be  sought  after  by  the  greater  dramatists.  This  quality 
of  universality  may,   it  is  evident,  be  attained   partly   by 

131 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

methods  similar  to  those  already  analysed  in  serious  plays, 
but  the  fact  that  comedy  differs  from  tragedy  in  being  often 
heroless,  realistic,  and  consequently  unpoetic,  renders  several 
of  these  methods  completely  useless.  The  supernatural,  in 
any  of  its  cruder  forms,  could  thus  never  have  any  entry 
into  a  comedy.  The  air  of  comedy  is  too  cynical,  too 
reasonable,  too  unemotional,  to  allow  of  any  heavenly  or 
spiritual  visitants.  If  the  gods  descend  to  the  earth  in 
comedy,  as  in  Dryden's  Amphitryon,  they  do  so  in  a  frank 
spirit  of  farce.  Mercury  becomes  a  common  serving-man 
and  Jove  takes  on  the  attributes  of  mankind.  The  w^cird 
sisters  of  Shadwell's  The  Lancashire  Witches  are  not  as  their 
companions  in  Macbeth.  In  the  tragedy,  although  the 
actions  and  the  words  of  the  witches  might  be  related  to 
Macbeth's  own  thoughts,  there  is  a  sense  of  supernatural 
awe  in  their  appearance ;  in  the  comedy,  not  only  does  the 
author  express  his  scepticism  in  his  preface,  but  he  is  careful 
to  make  many  of  his  characters  as  sceptical  as  himself. 
Ghosts  could  never  enter  into  a  comedy  of  any  kind, 
unless  indeed  those  ghosts  which  are,  in  the  end,  resolved 
into  mortal  essence.  The  spirit  of  Angelica  appears  in 
Farquhar's  Sir  Harry  JVildair,  but  in  the  last  act  reveals 
itself  as  the  bodily  form  of  Sir  Harry  Wildair's  wife ;  a 
ghost  is  brought  into  Addison's  The  Drummer,  but  once  more 
is  discovered  to  be  nothing  but  an  earthly  shape  in  disguise. 
The  high  emotion,  the  majesty,  the  awe  of  tragedy  are  all 
absent  here  ;  sacred  things  are  laughed  at ;  an  air  of  reason 
and  of  disbelief  permeates  the  whole. 

That  the  finer  suggestion  of  supernatural  forces,  however, 
is  not  wanting  in  comedy  may  readily  be  proved  by  a  glance 
at  the  typical  situations  of  many  plays  stretching  from 
classical  times  to  the  present  day.  There  are  scores  of 
comedies  that  depend  for  their  main  merriment  on  situations 
that  are  themselves  founded  on  chance  and  on  the  suggestion 
132 


COMEDY 

of  forces  playfully  baffling  mankind.  There  cannot  be, 
of  course,  the  slightest  enunciation  here  of  an  active  fate. 
The  fate  sense,  in  its  direct  form,  is  utterly  alien  to  comedy, 
but  there  may  be  the  subtle  hint  of  mocking  gods  behind 
the  actions  of  the  human  figures  on  the  stage.  M.  Bergson, 
of  whose  entertaining  and  profound  study  of  Le  Rire  fre- 
quent mention  will  be  made  in  the  succeeding  pages,  has 
diagnosed  as  one  of  the  chief  sources  of  the  risible  what 
he  styles  inversion,  which  he  connects  with  simple  puppets 
on  a  string  and  with  what  he  decides  is  of  the  essence  of 
the  laughable — automatism.  Men  are  made  into  puppets  ; 
events  take  place  in  a  series  of  e?ctraordinary  repetitions, 
where  coincidence  is  not  out  of  the  question,  but  where 
at  the  same  time  there  is  more  than  a  suggestion  that  the 
chance  is  not  uninformed  by  some  higher  power.  For 
instance,  twins  are  born,  so  alike  that  they  cannot  be  dis- 
tinguished even  by  their  parents.  So  far  only  nature  has 
had  a  part  j  such  twins  may  be  found  in  any  large  town. 
But  at  this  point  the  gods  step  in.  They  create  a  couple 
of  twin  serving-men,  identical  in  appearance,  and,  not  con- 
tent with  that,  they  separate  the  pairs  of  brothers  for  long 
years,  to  make  them  meet  again  in  a  series  of  extraordinary 
embarrassments  in  the  town  of  Ephesus.  Such  is  the 
stuff  of  The  Comedy  of  Errors.  This  Comedy  of  Errors  has 
but  the  spirit  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  inverted.  Fate  is  sporting 
with  the  Antipholi  and  with  the  Dromios,  as  a  more  solemn 
fate  sported  tragically  with  the  unfortunate  lovers.  Repeti- 
tion, inversion,  interference  de  series,  the  three  main  theses 
of  M.  Bergson's  chapter  on  the  comique  de  situation,  all 
depend  in  some  way  or  another  on  the  automatism  of  man 
in  the  hands  of  a  higher  power. 

Here,  then,  is  one  of  the  first  suggestions  of  universality 
in  comedy.  The  gods  are  laughed  at  and  sacred  things  are 
turned  into  causes  of  merriment,  and  yet  a  hint  remains 

133 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

that  there  is  more  in  heaven  and  earth  than  is  dreamt  of  in 
any  philosophy.  The  element  of  universality  derived  from 
suggestion  of  the  supernatural,  how^ever,  is  by  no  means  one 
of  the  chief  in  comedy  as  it  vv^as  one  of  the  chief  in  tragedy, 
and  for  the  average  dramatist  it  is  an  exceedingly  danger- 
ous medium.  Unless  in  a  purely  fantastical  play  such  as 
A  Midsummer  'Night's  Dream,  where  there  is  a  momentary 
suspension  of  disbelief,  or  in  The  Tempest,  w^here  the  super- 
natural is  related  to  human  knowledge  and  human  skill,  a 
touch  too  crude  will  destroy  all  illusion.  The  supernatural 
may  be  introduced  most  freely  in  the  comedies  of  romance, 
and  hinted  at  in  the  comedies  of  manners,  but  only  with  the 
most  delicate  and  most  hesitating  of  outlines. 

Class  Symbolism. — More  potent  and  more  common  is 
the  equivalent  to  the  tragic  hero  of  royalty  and  empire. 
Comedy,  as  we  have  seen,  is  ordinarily  heroless,  the  mirth 
usually  arising  from  the  juxtaposition  of  a  number  of 
characters.  An  analysis  of  these  characters  will  disclose  to 
us  that  the  playwright  habitually  endeavours  to  secure  one 
of  two  effects,  both  dependent  on  the  one  idea  :  he  will 
try  to  introduce  several  of  a  particular  species  or  class, 
or  he  will  try  to  suggest  that  a  certain  figure  is  itself 
representative  of  a  class.  The  fundamental  assumption  of 
comedy  is  that  it  does  not  deal  with  isolated  individualities. 
These  classes  thus  presented  in  the  body  of  comedy  will 
obviously  have  broader  ramifications  beyond  the  walls  of 
the  theatre ;  and  at  once  there  will  be  raised  in  the  minds 
of  the  audience  a  connexion  between  the  particular  work  of 
art  and  the  wider  reaches  of  humanity  as  a  whole.  Very 
frequently,  as  we  have  already  seen,  humorous  or  laughable 
characters  are  presented  in  pairs  or  in  groups.  The  artisans 
in  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  include  Bottom,  Quince, 
Snug,  and  Starveling.  Dogberry  and  Verges,  Launce 
and  Speed,  the  two  Dromios — ^all  of  these,  although  foils 


COMEDY 

to  one  another,  are  representative  of  particular  classes, 
and  their  juxtaposition  strengthens  the  assumption  that 
their  idiosyncrasies  are  not  peculiar  to  themselves  but 
shared  by  many  another.  In  the  comedies  of  manners  we 
frequently  find  opposing  bands  of  wits  and  of  would-be  wits. 
Not  all  the  wits  are  alike ;  not  all  the  would-be  wits  are 
alike  ;  but  each  group  has  certain  qualities  common  to  all 
its  varied  representatives.  The  various  "  Schools  "  of  the 
eighteenth -century  comedy — The  School  for  Scandal,  The 
School  for  Wives,  The  School  for  Greybeards — all  of  them 
ultimately  to  be  traced  back  to  Moliere's  UEcole  des  Maris 
and  UEcole  des  Femmes,  present  characteristics  of  an  iden- 
tically similar  nature. 

When  a  person  is  isolated  in  comedy  he  is  nearly  always 
a  type,  a  representative  of  something  broader  than  himself, 
and  in  the  highest  art  a  representative  of  what  are  the 
permanent  classes  of  mankind.  "  The  characters  of 
Chaucer's  Pilgrims,"  said  William  Blake,  "  are  the  charac- 
ters that  compose  all  ages  and  nations.  .  .  .  They  are  the 
physiognomies  or  lineaments  of  universal  human  life, 
beyond  which  nature  never  steps."  Blake's  words  might, 
indeed,  be  applied  to  all  fine  comedy.  Comedy  may  revel 
in  the  follies  of  an  age,  but  we  shall  find  that  it  usually 
seizes  upon  those  particular  follies  which  are  permanent 
in  all  ages.  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek 
are  not  only  Elizabethans ;  Captain  Bobadill,  even  the 
gulls  Matthew  and  Stephen,  are  in  a  way  universal;  there 
are  Mirabels  amongst  us,  and  Sir  Fopling  Flutters  and 
Mrs  Malaprops.  This  permanent  value  we  shall  find  in 
all  the  greatest  comedies  of  the  ages.  It  is  this  that  makes 
Moliere,  Shakespeare,  Congreve,  and  Sheridan  as  fresh 
to-day  as  when  they  wrote.  Only  the  lesser  dramatists  will 
trouble  themselves  with  the  topical,  the  temporary,  and 
the  particular.      It  is  the  lack  of  these  permanent  elements 

135 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

that  makes  the  comedies  of  Shadwell,  well  written  and  well 
constructed,  so  dull  beside  the  comedies  of  Etherege  ;  Shad- 
well  strove  to  reproduce  his  age,  and,  accordingly,  although 
he  has  historical  value,  he  has  less  intrinsic  worth  than  many 
of  the  other  writers  who  were  his  contemporaries.  Comedy 
may  set  out  to  be  a  mirror  of  the  times  j  but  far  more,  in 
its  highest  form,  must  it  be  a  mirror  of  Time. 

Comedy,  therefore,  from  one  point  of  view,  is  an  abstrac*- 
of  society,  or  at  least  of  certain  aspects  of  society.  If  laughter 
is  essentially  the  punishment  of  society  inflicted  on  certain 
eccentric  types  and  classes  of  mankind  we  can  see  how  it 
operates  to  secure  a  broader  significance  than  is  included 
in  the  literal  words  and  in  the  actual  persons  on  the  stage. 
It  is  true  that  the  risible  has  something  in  it  peculiarly 
racial  and  national,  but  there  are  general  "  lineaments"  of 
humanity  which  seem  to  pass  beyond  the  borders  of  the 
various  lands.  The  virtuoso,  the  hypocrite,  the  miser,  the 
simpleton  who  preens  himself  upon  his  wit — these  are 
figures  which  are  not  peculiar  to  any  one  country,  and  they 
appear  indiscriminately  in  the  plays  of  Shakespeare,  Jonson, 
Moliere,  and  Congreve.  There  are,  then,  in  high  comedy 
two  main  suggestions  :  first,  that  the  characters  are  not  the 
characters  peculiar  to  one  age  or  to  one  place  ;  and,  second, 
that  the  comedy  as  a  whole  is  but  a  part  of,  or  a  mere  symbol 
of,  the  larger  world  of  society  beyond  it.  From  this  springs 
the  feeling  of  generality,  the  feeling  that  is  presented  in 
high  tragedy  as  well,  that  these  facts  and  situations  and 
persons  are  not  isolated  and  separate,  but  are  simply  abstracts 
of  something  greater  and  of  weightier  significance  than 
themselves. 

The  Sub-plot. — ^This  eff^ect  of  universality  may,  of 
course,  be  secured  in  many  other  ways  than  these.  The 
use  of  the  sub-plot  which  we  have  already  noted  as  a  feature 
of  romantic  tragedy  is  to  be  found  here  too.  The  lover 
136 


COMEDY 

pursues  a  witty  mistress,  and  the  servant  hunts  the  no  less 
witty  maid.  There  enters  in  once  more  M.  Bergson's  re- 
petition, inversion,  interference  de  series,  in  a  slightly  differing 
form.  Sir  Martin  Mar-all  is  a  fool  and  betrays  his  own 
plots;  so  does  Sir  John  Swallow,  his  rival.  Warner  is  clever 
and  contrives  wondrous  devices;  he  is  cheated  in  the  end  by 
Mrs  Millisent.  The  lovers  in  A  Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream 
have  their  quarrels  ;  so  have  Oberon  and  Titania,  Olivia 
in  Twelfth  Night  is  deceived  by  a  girl  dressed  as  a  boy ; 
Malvolio  is  cheated  by  a  fool  who  pretends  to  be  a  clergyman. 
This  tendency  toward  repetition  of  the  main  theme,  or 
even  toward  parallel  plots,  each  working  to  much  the  same 
end,  is  to  be  found  in  nearly  all  the  romantic  comedies ;  it 
has  become  almost  a  staple  part  of  the  comic  stock-in-trade. 
That  unconsciously  its  value  was  appreciated  by  the  drama- 
tists is  proved  by  the  fact  that,  just  as  the  heroic  tragedy 
of  the  Restoration  exaggerated  and  made  mechanical  the 
true  elements  of  tragic  greatness,  the  Restoration  comedy 
writers  frequently  elaborated  to  a  ridiculous  degree  the 
qualities  hinted  at  in  Shakespeare  and  in  his  companions. 
What  did  Dryden  and  D'Avenant  do  with  The  Tempest  ? 
They  made  Ferdinand  love  Miranda  as  in  Shakespeare,  but 
they  also  created  a  sister  for  Miranda  and  provided  a  lover 
for  her,  a  boy  who  had  never  seen  a  woman.  They  gave 
Ariel  a  spirit  bride  in  Milcha,  and  presented  Caliban  with 
a  sister  in  Sycorax.  Not  content  with  this,  they  exaggerated 
those  scenes  of  the  sailors,  which  in  Shakespeare  hint 
delicately  at  the  connexion  between  the  rule  of  Milan  and 
the  boorish  republic  of  the  mariners,  and  between  both  of 
these  and  the  rule  of  Prospero.  They  made  the  Trinculo 
and  Stephano  scenes  into  a  satire  against  democracy,  and 
deliberately  made  explicit  the  comparison  only  hinted  at 
before.  This  quality  of  repetition  by  means  of  a  sub-plot 
is  to  be  traced,  too,  in  an  exaggerated  form  in  the  plays  of 

137 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

the  Spanish  intrigue  type,  Dryden's  The  Spanish  Fryar  is 
as  good  an  example  as  any.  The  Queen  loves  the  general 
Torrismond,  but  is  more  or  less  engaged  to  Bertran ;  by 
subterfuge  she  gains  her  ends.  Elvira,  married  to  old 
Gomez,  loves  the  colonel  Lorenzo,  and  employs  subterfuge 
to  see  her  lover.  A  scene  between  Torrismond  and  the 
Queen  is  followed  by  a  scene  between  the  more  comical 
lovers ;  and  at  once  there  is  raised  in  our  minds,  sub- 
consciously perhaps,  a  comparison  between  the  two  situations, 
and  not  only  is  the  poignancy  of  the  humour  in  the  '  Spanish 
fryar '  scenes  increased  by  their  opposition  to  the  more 
serious  court  passages,  but  an  atmosphere  of  inevitability 
and  of  generality  is  created  by  the  repetition  of  the  same 
theme.  Still  more  noticeable  in  this  play  is  the  denouement. 
Torrismond  turns  out  at  the  end  to  be  the  son  of  the 
imprisoned  monarch  of  the  land,  and  therefore  the  real 
heir  to  the  throne.  Such  a  discovery,  alone,  might  have 
appeared  improbable — an  isolated  fact  unrelated  to  the 
rest  of  the  world,  because  of  rare  occurrence.  Dryden,  to 
counter  this,  has  introduced  an  exactly  similar  discovery 
of  identity.  The  lady  whom  Colonel  Lorenzo  has  been 
pursuing  turns  out  to  be  his  sister.  The  two  discoveries 
are  made  practically  at  the  same  moment  and  the  shock 
of  the  two  coming  together  is  such  that  it  creates  an  atmo- 
sphere which  forms  a  fitting  background  for  the  events  of 
the  play.  Shakespeare  utilized  something  of  the  same  de- 
vice in  The  Winter's  Tale.  The  queen  Hermione  has  been 
kept  in  seclusion  for  sixteen  vears — a  situation  perilous 
indeed  for  the  dramatist.  She  is  revealed  in  the  last  act, 
but  at  the  same  moment  it  is  discovered  that  her  daughter 
is  also  alive,  and  Perdita  becomes  a  princess.  Again  the 
close  concurrence  of  the  two  events  creates  a  spirit,  a 
romantic  glow,  which  aids  the  playwright  in  arousing  in  the 
minds  of  the  spectators  a  belief  in  the  events  of  the  play,  and, 
138 


COMEDY 

incidentally,  in  producing  this  atmosphere  of  universality. 
This  concurrence,  of  course,  need  not  always  take  the  form 
of  an  identical  or  almost  identical  series  of  events.  Thus, 
in  Fletcher's  IVit  at  Several  Weapons  there  are  two  plots, 
but  not  of  a  similar  character.  In  the  one  Sir  Perfidious 
Oldcraft  destines  his  niece  for  Sir  Gregory  Fop.  She  falls 
in  love  with  and  ultimately  marries  Cunningham.  In  this 
part  of  the  plot  occurs  Pompey  Doodle,  who,  believing  that 
the  niece  is  in  love  with  him,  gives  himself  airs.  The  second 
part  of  the  plot  deals  entirely  with  the  cheats  put  upon  his 
father  and  his  cousin  Credulous  by  Witty-pate  Oldcraft. 
Separate  as  all  these  events  seem  to  be,  there  are  yet  a  number 
of  characteristics  which  bind  them  together  and  give  them 
a  universal  significance.  Thus,  Pompey  Doodle  is  opposed 
to  and  connected  with  Sir  Gregory  Fop,  while,  on  the  other 
hand.  Credulous  is  opposed  to  Pompey  Doodle.  The  whole 
theme  of  both  plots,  moreover,  is  deception  and  intrigue. 
In  the  one  the  niece  cheats  her  uncle  ;  in  the  other  this 
uncle  is  tricked  by  his  own  son.  Sir  Perfidious  Oldcraft 
forms  the  bond  between  the  two,  and  helps  to  make  con- 
nected these  worlds  of  deception  which,  in  their  turn,  by 
their  close  opposition  render  probable  the  most  improbable 
situations  in  the  play.  A  somewhat  similar  series  of  con- 
nected and  opposed  situations,  still  more  complicated, 
appears  in  Fletcher  and  Massinger's  The  Custom  of  the 
Country.  Here  there  are  more  than  two  plots.  In  the 
first  place  Arnoldo  marries  Zenocia,  and  Clodio  claims  the 
custom  of  the  country.  Arnoldo,  his  brother  Rutilio,  and 
Zenocia  flee  by  boat.  Zenocia  is  captured  outside  Lisbon, 
but  Arnoldo  and  Rutilio  escape.  Here  the  plot  divides 
into  separate  spheres  of  interest.  Arnoldo  is  loved  by 
Hippolyta,  is  tempted  by  her,  refuses  her  offers,  is  cast  into 
the  hands  of  law  officers,  and  is  eventually  released  by 
her.     This    Hippolyta,    moreover,    administers    poison    to 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Zenocia,  but  brings  her  to  life  again.  Rutilio,  meanwhile, 
has  apparently  killed  Duarte,  son  of  Guiomar,  a  rich  widow  ; 
the  last,  through  a  promise,  shields  the  supposed  murderer. 
Rutilio  later  makes  offers  to  Guiomar,  is  refused,  and  is 
cast  by  her  into  jail.  At  this  moment  Duarte,  who  has 
suffered  no  serious  injury,  reveals  himself.  Now  here  in 
these  romantic  events  there  are  several  situations  which 
might  have  appeared  improbable  on  the  stage,  and  it  is  quite 
clearly  to  be  seen  that  it  is  precisely  these  situations  which 
have  been  duplicated  and  paralleled.  Take  the  supposed 
death  of  Duarte,  not  impossible  certainly,  but  unlikely. 
At  once  there  is  to  be  traced  the  similarity  between  that  and 
the  supposed  poisoning  of  Zenocia.  The  two  are  brought 
to  life  just  as  suddenly  and  just  as  miraculously.  Zenocia's 
purity  is  paralleled  by  Arnoldo's ;  Clodio's  lust  by  Hippo- 
lyta's.  Hippolyta  makes  offers  to  Arnold©  as  Rutilio  to 
Guiomar.  Arnoldo  is  taken  up  by  Hippolyta  as  Rutilio 
is  by  the  bawd.  There  is  here,  therefore,  not  merely  one 
parallel,  but  a  whole  series  of  parallels,  each  one  strengthen- 
ing the  atmosphere  of  the  piece  and  suggesting  to  the  audience 
the  universality  of  these  diverse  romantic  themes.  One 
further  note  might  be  made  in  regard  to  these  sub- 
plots and  their  various  connexions.  It  has  been  evident 
from  the  examples  given  above  that  it  is  not  always  necessary 
that  the  separate  parts  in  the  development  of  a  comic  theme 
should  be  exact  parallels  ;  the  relation  may  be  one  of  con- 
trast rather  than  of  similarity.  This  might  still  further 
be  illustrated  from  Beaumont's  comedy  of  The  Woman 
Hater.  The  main  plot  here  deals  with  the  love  of  the  Duke 
for  Oriana,  sister  of  Count  Valoret.  The  lover  sees  his 
mistress  at  the  house  of  Gondarino,  who  slanders  her  and 
leads  her  to  a  house  of  ill-fame.  One  of  the  two  sub-plots 
deals  with  the  rascal  Palmer's  forcing  of  the  prostitute 
Francissina  upon  Mercer,  a  foolish  but  inoffensive  tradesman. 
140 


COMEDY 

Quite  obviously  in  this  play  there  is  no  parallel;  but  the 
purity  of  Oriana,  apparent  after  the  lengthy  series  of  intrigues 
and  duplicities,  stands  in  close  contrast  to  the  impurity  of 
Francissina,  also  immersed  in  a  series  of  intrigues  and 
duplicities.  The  contrast,  instead  of  weakening  the  spirit 
of  the  play,  gives  it  a  peculiar  unity,  which  possibly  might 
have  been  lost  had  the  main  plot  stood  in  isolation. 

External  Symbolism. — This  play.  The  JVoman  Hater, 
also  presents  an  example  of  the  use  of  a  certain  kind  of 
symbolism,  closely  related  to  the  symbolism  utilized  with  such 
effect  in  tragic  themes.  The  second  sub-plot  has  for  its 
subject  the  courtier  Lazarillo,  one  who  adores  strange 
viands,  and  it  treats  of  his  following  the  rare  fish-head  in 
its  wanderings  from  house  to  house.  This  fish-head  is  the 
link  between  the  various  otherwise  disconnected  portions 
of  the  play.  It  carries  us  from  palace  to  hovel,  and  in  its 
way  succeeds  in  raising  a  connexion  between  the  Duke, 
Francissina,  and  Mercer.  It  is  an  external  object  which 
has  a  force  beyond  itself,  a  generalizing  force,  which  at 
one  and  the  same  time  unifies  the  play  and  gives  it  a  sense 
of  universality.  This  employment  of  an  external  object  is 
naturally  not  of  such  wide  occurrence  in  comedy  as  it  is  in 
tragedy,  but  it  makes  its  appearance  sporadically  throughout 
the  history  of  this  type  of  drama  and  must  be  included  in 
any  analysis  of  the  characteristics  of  the  species.  Possibly 
along  with  it  might  be  mentioned  the  utilization  of  some 
scene  or  locality  which  bears  a  symbolic  relation  to  the 
events  of  the  play.  Thus,  in  The  English  Traveller  the 
house  which  is  reputed  to  be  haunted  serves  as  a  means  of 
linking  together  the  two  plots  of  the  play  and  of  suggesting 
something  besides  ;  in  Js  Tou  Like  It  the  forest  of  Arden, 
unseen  by  sensual  eyes  on  the  Elizabethan  stage  but  present 
to  imaginative  vision,  serves  as  a  symbol  of  the  emotions 
raised  in  that  comedy. 

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INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Style  and  Pathetic  Fallacy. — Finally,  there  are  two 
other  methods  which  must  be  taken  into  our  account.  The 
first  of  these  is  style,  and  the  second  is  that  device  which 
may  be  named  pathetic  fallacy.  Of  the  latter  examples 
have  already  been  given  from  Much  Ado  about  Nothing 
and  from  The  Merchant  of  Fenice.  Nature,  certainly,  is 
not  made  to  sympathize  with  man's  emotions  so  frequently 
in  comedy  as  in  tragedy,  and  the  marked  instances  given 
above  are  both,  it  will  be  noticed,  from  comedies  of  a  serious, 
almost  tragic,  cast ;  yet  the  device  is  not  unknown  even 
in  plays  of  the  most  artificial  and  most  satirical  kind.  It 
can  be  traced  all  through  the  lighter  productions  of  Shake- 
speare, and  even  makes  its  appearance  in  the  midst  of  the 
town  laughter  of  the  drama  of  the  Restoration.  In  style, 
too,  there  are  marked  differences  between  the  tragic  and  the 
comic  species.  Whereas  verse  has  until  recent  days  been 
acknowledged  as  the  prime  medium  for  serious  plays,  prose 
has  ever  tended  to  be  the  medium  for  comedy.  At  the 
same  time,  blank  verse  has  been  freely  used  not  only  in 
Elizabethan  comedies,  but  in  comedies  of  the  Restoration 
and  later  periods.  Song,  too,  appears  in  these  as  in  tragedies. 
This  sporadic  utilization  of  verse  and  frequent  introduction 
of  song  probably  marks  a  desire  on  the  part  of  the  playwrights 
to  rise  beyond  the  level  of  mere  prose.  Prose,  certainly, 
is  the  fitting  medium  for  comic  dialogue,  and  the  fact  that 
it  was  not  always  retained  tends  to  prove  the  existence  of 
this  subconscious  desire. 

Comedy,  then,  like  tragedy,  must  have  some  universality  ; 
it  must  have  some  ramifications  and  connexions  beyond 
the  theatre.  That  universality  is  attained  generally  by  the 
classes  of  the  dramatis  persona,  by  the  types  and  by  the 
peculiar  nature  of  the  sub-plots,  but  the  dramatists  through- 
out the  centuries  have  made  constant,  if  not  always  organized 
and  deliberate,  use  of  other  devices  lying  ready  to  their  hands. 
142 


COMEDY 

(ii)  THE  SPIRIT  OF  COMEDY 
Classification  of  Drama. — It  has  already  been  noted 
in  the  first  part  of  this  inquiry  that  there  is  no  sharp  Hne  of 
demarcation  between  tragedy  and  comedy,  that  the  two  have 
been  freely  used  together  by  all  but  the  most  precise  and 
the  most  artificial  of  the  pseudo-classicists,  and  that  there 
are  certain  types  of  tragedy  and  of  comedy  which  have  inti- 
mate relations  one  with  another.  This  being  so,  it  becomes 
exceedingly  difficult  to  determine  accurately  not  only  what 
are  the  main  characteristics  of  comedy  itself,  but  whether 
certain  plays  are  to  be  included  in  the  one  category  or  in  the 
other.  We  may  easily  determine  that  Othello  is  a  tragedy 
and  that  The  Way  of  the  World  is  a  comedy  ;  but  there  are 
countless  dramas  which  appear  to  lack  the  distinguishing 
characteristics  of  the  one  type  or  of  the  other.  There  are, 
for  example,  a  number  of  what  may  be  called  problem  plays, 
dating  from  the  days  of  Shakespeare  to  our  own  times, 
which  end  in  a  fairly  happy  manner,  and  which  yet  have 
none  of  that  sparkle  and  gaiety  which  is  usually  accepted 
as  the  prime  quality  of  the  comic  muse.  There  are,  again, 
problem  plays  which  end  unhappily,  but  not  with  death  ; 
where  gloom  hangs  over  the  production  from  the  beginning 
to  the  end,  but  where  there  is  nothing  on  which  we  can  lay  our 
hands  and  say,  "This  is  truly  tragic  emotion."  There  are 
the  plays  of  the  poetic  justice  order,  where  good  characters 
are  saved  and  evil  characters  are  duly  disposed  of  by  execu- 
tion or  by  murder.  There  are  amorphous  plays,  such  as  The 
Winter's  Tale^  where  death  comes  to  characters  of  perfect 
honesty  and  goodness,  but  where  the  end  is  not  predomi- 
natingly tragic.  There  are,  too,  plays,  mostly  of  the  time 
of  the  early  seventeenth  century,  where  a  genuinely  tragic 
motif  runs  parallel  to  a  motif  as  genuinely  comic.  There 
are  plays  such  as  some  of  Shakespeare's  tragedies,  where 

143 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

odd  comic  scenes,  not  developing  into  an  ordered  sub-plot 
by  themselves,  are  interposed  at  infrequent  intervals,  destroy- 
ing, according  to  the  neo-classic  critics,  intensifying,  accord- 
ing to  the  romantic  critics,  the  terror  and  the  awe  of  the 
more  serious  portions.  Among  these,  then,  with  infinite 
gradations,  there  are  to  be  found  not  any  clearly  marked 
divisions,  but  a  whole  series  of  classes,  the  one  merging 
almost  imperceptibly  into  the  other.  If  we  accept  for  the 
moment  the  usual  concomitant  to  a  tragedy,  the  unhappy 
ending,  and  the  usual  concomitant  to  a  comedy,  the  happy 
ending,  and  if  at  the  same  time  we  adopt  the  use  of  the  term 
drame  for  a  play  not  sparklingly  amusing  but  yet  no  tragedy, 
and  if  we  confine  tragi-comedy  to  those  plays  where  true 
tragic  elements  run  parallel  to  true  comic  elements,  we  may 
be  able  to  frame  a  very  rough  classification  of  the  majority 
of  plays,  always  remembering  the  fact  noted  above,  that  the 
one  class  can  almost  imperceptibly  fade  into  the  other. 
This  rough  classification,  imperfect  as  it  may  be  and  of  no 
practical  utility  for  critical  purposes,  may  serve  at  least  as 
a  guide  in  the  following  investigation. 

(i)  The  tragedies  unrelieved  by  comic  elements: 
Othello,  CEdipus  Tyrannus,  Ghosts. 

(2)  The  tragedies  with  a  slight  introduction  of  mirth, 
never  formed  into  a  regular  under-plot,  and 
presented  mostly  for  the  sake  of  relief  or  of 
contrast :   Macbeth,  Hamlet. 

(3}  The  tragi-comedies  where  tragic  and  comic  elements 
have  an  almost  equal  balance :    The  Changeling. 

(4)  The  tragi-comedies  where  a  comic  under-plot  holds 

a  subordinate  position :    The  English  Traveller. 

(5)  The  tragi-comedies  where  the  comic  is  the  main 

theme,  and  the  tragic  forms  an   under-plot : 
The  IVinters  Tale,  Much  Ado  about  Nothing, 
144 


COMEDY 

(6)  The  poetic  justice  plays,  where  good  characters  are 

preserved,  and  evil  characters  are  destroyed :  The 
Conquest  of  Granada. 

(7)  The  <^r(3;w^j  which  end  happily :  The  Road  to  Ruin. 

(8)  The  drames  which  have  not  a  completely  happy 

solution  :   The  Merchant  of  Venice. 

(9)  The  <5('r^;wf-comedies,  where  a  serious  plot  mingles 

with  comic  elements :  Secret  Love,  The  Spanish 
Fryar. 

(10)  The  satiric  comedies,  where  the  ending  may  be,  and 

usually  is,  of  the  poetic  justice  order  :  Folpone. 

(11)  The  comedies,  where   the  ending   is   happy  and 

where  the  dialogue  and  the  theme  are  wholly 
laughable  :  The  Way  of  the  World,  The  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor. 

It  is  primarily  this  last  category  with  which  we  have 
now  to  deal,  although  elements  from  the  others  will  neces- 
sarily enter  into  our  investigation. 

From  this  classification  it  is  seen  that,  just  as  tragedy 
does  not  depend  wholly  on  an  unhappy  conclusion,  comedy 
does  not  depend  primarily  on  the  ending  of  the  play ;  that 
is  to  say,  a  play  ending  happily,  even  brightly,  is  not  neces- 
sarily a  comedy.  The  comic  spirit  is  embodied  in  the  midst 
of  the  dialogue  and  the  situations.  A  happy  ending  may  be 
necessary,  but  it  is  not  the  distinguishing  characteristic. 

Distinction  between  '  Drame  '  and  Comedy. — M. 
Bergson  has  undoubtedly  seized  upon  the  fundamental  point 
of  difference  when  he  indicates  that  the  drame  invariably 
deals  with  personalities,  while  true  comedy  deals  with  types 
and  with  classes.  The  plays  of  Kotzebue,  so  popular  in 
England  at  the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century,  are  drames 
because,  however  weak  the  characterization  may  be  at 
times,  there  is  at  least  an  attempt  to  secure  individuality  of 

K  145 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

expression.  Measure  for  Measure  is  a  drame  largely  because 
the  main  figures  are  not  types  but  persons.  Folpone,  although 
there  is  little  that  is  laughable  in  it,  is  not  a  drame,  because 
Volpone  himself,  Corbaccio,  Lady  Politick  Would-be,  and 
the  rest  are  pure  types  not  in  any  way  individualized. 
Folpone  we  may  call  a  serious  or  satirical  comedy.  At  the 
same  time,  there  are  other  characteristics  of  the  drame 
beyond  the  mere  presentation  of  the  dramatis  persona. 
Again,  M.  Bergson  has  hinted  at  another  distinction  when 
he  lays  down  the  rule  that  comedy  depends  upon  insensi- 
bility on  the  part  of  the  audience.  As  soon  as  we  begin  to 
sympathize  then  we  entirely  lose  the  spirit  of  laughter, 
and  we  begin  to  sympathize  when  we  see  before  us  not 
types  but  personalities.  If  we  felt  pity  for  Mercer  in  The 
Woman  Hater  then  the  whole  play  in  which  Mercer 
appeared  would  cease  to  have  any  comic  pleasure  for  us. 
This  partly  explains  the  loss  for  us  to-day  of  an  apprecia- 
tion for  what  was  risible  a  couple  of  centuries  ago.  Un- 
doubtedly, as  man  passes  from  the  primitive  savage  stage 
of  his  history  to  a  more  developed  plane  his  emotions  and 
his  feelings  are  increased,  and  that  for  which  he  would  never 
have  felt  pity  before  becomes  an  object  of  tears  and  of  com- 
miseration. Bear-baiting  and  cock-fighting  were  sports  of 
the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  but  they  would  not 
be  sports  to  the  majority  of  people  in  the  twentieth  century. 
Undoubtedly,  later  ages  will  look  back  with  surprise  on  our 
own  popular  sport  of  chasing  a  wretched  fox  with  full 
panoply  of  hound  and  horn.  This  increase  of  sensibility, 
the  product  of  emotion  and  of  feeling,  rapidly  kills  the 
available  sources  of  the  comic,  and  may  explain  not  only  the 
lack  of  appreciation  we  feel  in  many  Elizabethan  comedies, 
but  also  the  fact  that  so  few  true  comedies  are  produced  in 
modern  times.  Sensibility  has  always  been  connected  with 
a  moral  note,  which  is  expressed  usually  by  means  of  a  problem. 
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COMEDY 

A  problem  of  some  kind  or  another  lies  at  the  back  of  every 
drame.  It  colours  Measure  for  Measure,  just  as  it  colours 
any  of  the  modern  plays  of  the  same  cast.  There  is  never 
a  problem  in  pure  comedy,  because  the  events  on  the  stage, 
universal  as  they  may  be  in  significance,  are  never  directly 
related  to  the  actual  conditions  of  life.  In  comedy,  as 
personalities  are  artificialized  into  types,  so  the  situations 
are  removed  so  far  from  the  situations  of  actual  life  that 
there  is  no  direct  relation  established  between  the  two. 
Any  of  the  marriages  in  seventeenth-century  comedy  would, 
if  brought  down  to  the  levels  of  ordinary  existence,  cease 
entirely  to  be  comic  ;  and  here  again  arises  a  question  of  the 
appreciation  of  the  older  comedy.  With  the  rise  of  senti- 
ment and  of  feeling,  modern  readers  and  spectators  are 
enabled  to  get  beyond  the  artificiality  and  to  reduce  that 
artificiality  to  mortal  essence.  Just  as  they  get  beyond 
the  barriers  of  the  type,  so  they  get  beyond  the  barriers  of 
the  situation.  It  is  this  that  accounts  for  Addison's  strictures 
on  Etherege  ;  it  is  this  that  explains  the  thesis  of  Macaulay's 
article  on  "  The  Artificial  Comedy." 

Comedy,  then,  as  such,  we  find  separated  from  the  drame 
by  the  substitution  of  type  for  individual,  insensibility  for 
emotion,  moral  sentiment  (the  relating  of  art  to  life  and  the 
consequent  presentation  of  a  problem)  for  pure  artificiality. 
We  can  trace  the  merging  of  the  one  into  the  other  very 
clearly  in  the  giant  person  of  Falstaff.  Falstaff  is  a  comic 
figure ;  but,  in  Shakespeare's  hands,  he  grows  out  of  his 
world,  and,  ceasing  to  be  a  type,  develops  into  a  formal 
entity  of  his  own.  He  is  individualized,  and  so  steps  out 
of  the  bounds  of  comedy  into  the  bounds  of  serious  drama. 
It  is  this  that  accounts  for  the  dissatisfaction  we  feel  at  the 
close  of  the  second  part  of  Henry  IV.  Had  Falstaff  remained 
a  mere  type  as  Pistol  and  Bardolph  are  types,  we  should  have 
felt  no  sorrow  at  his  rejection  ;   but  as  Shakespeare  has  made 

H7 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

him  a  personality  and  has  treated  him  as  if  he  had  been 
a  purely  comic  type  we  feel  the  incongruity  of  the  situation, 
and  for  once  are  hardly  inclined  to  accept  without  a  murmur 
the  words  and  the  actions  of  the  dramatist-creator.  The 
clash  of  the  two  moods  or  methods  produces  an  apparent 
disharmony.  For  the  Falstaff  of  The  Merry  IVives,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  feel  no  pity,  because  in  The  Merry  Wives 
he  is  merely  a  type.  The  dramatist  here  could  have  done 
anything  to  him  and  we  should  not  have  cared. 

Satire  and  Comedy. — Drame,  thus,  as  well  as  tragedy, 
has  been  separated  from  comedy  proper  :  tragedy  as  being 
distinguished  by  an  unhappy  ending  and  a  plot  arousing  the 
feelings  of  awe  and  of  majesty  ;  drame  as  dealing  with 
emotion  and  with  personality.  There  remains  for  us  still 
the  analysis  of  the  characteristics  of  comedy  itself.  Already 
there  has  been  raised  a  problem  in  Volpone.  Folpone  is  a 
comedy,  yet  we  do  not  laugh  at  it.  Is  laughter,  then,  not 
necessary  for  comedy  ?  Is  the  risible  not  the  sine  qua  non 
in  this  type  of  drama  ?  The  problem  raised  by  such  a 
question  as  this  is  undoubtedly  a  vital  one,  and  hits  deep  at 
the  essential  qualities  of  the  comic  species.  Here  obviously 
there  must  be  made  some  distinction  between  satire  and 
pure  laughter.!  Satire  may  certainly  be  laughable,  as,  for 
example,  in  the  opening  lines  of  Dryden's  Mac  Flecknoe : 

All  humane  things  are  subject  to  decay, 
And,  when  Fate  summons,  Monarchs  must  obey  : 
This  Fleckno  found,  who,  like  Augustus,  young 
Was  call'd  to  Empire  and  had  govcrn'd  long  : 
In  Prose  and  Verse  was  own'd,  without  dispute 
Through  all  the  realms  of  Non-sense,  absolute. 
This  aged  Prince  now  flourishing  in  Peace, 
And  blest  with  issue  of  a  large  increase, 

1  There  is  an  interesting  study  of  satire  in  J.  Y.  T.  Greig's  recent 
volume  on  The  Psychology  oj  Laughter  and  Comedy. 
148 


COMEDY 

Worn  out  with  business,  did  at  length  debate 
To  settle  the  Succession  of  the  State  ; 
And  pond'ring  which  of  all  his  Sons  was  fit 
To  Reign,  and  wage  immortal  War  with  Wit, 
Cry'd,  'tis  resolv'd  ;  for  Nature  pleads  that  He 
Should  onely  rule,  who  most  resembles  me  : 
Shadwell  alone  my  perfect  image  bears, 
Mature  in  dullness  from  his  tender  years ; 
Shadwell  alone  of  all  my  Sons  is  he 
Who  stands  confirm'd  in  full  stupidity. 
The  rest  to  some  faint  meaning  make  pretence. 
But  Shadwell  never  deviates  into  sense. 

These  words,  assuredly,  may  call  more  than  a  smile  to 
our  lips,  and,  if  recited  in  a  theatre,  might  give  rise  to  a 
roar  of  merriment ;  but  fundamentally  their  object,  save  in 
certain  witty  turns  of  phrase,  is  not  primarily  to  arouse  a 
laugh  or  even  a  smile.  Their  object  is  to  cast  derision  upon 
some  person  or  upon  some  thing.  The  satirist,  however, 
is  not  a  moralist  in  the  sense  that  Steele  is  a  moralist.  The 
true  moralist  appeals  nearly  always  to  the  feelings  and  not 
to  the  intellect,  and  the  satirist  rarely  plays  upon  the  emo- 
tions. The  satires  of  Juvenal  are  hard,  presenting  to  the 
reader  a  series  of  pictures  addressed  to  the  reason.  We  are 
not  called  upon  to  sympathize  with  anything  or  to  feel 
emotions  of  any  kind  in  Volpone.  Swift's  satires  appeal 
entirely  to  the  intellect.  Thackeray  is  a  satirist  because  of 
his  extraordinary  piercing  eye  and  brain.  Nor  does  the 
satirist  attack  pure  vice  from  the  moral  point  of  view.  Steele 
will  inveigh  against  duelling  ;  Moore  will  attack  gambling  ; 
Holcroft  will  attack  horse-racing — all  through  the  medium 
of  the  emotions  and  because  the  sentiments  of  the  writers 
have  been  aroused  by  pity  for  one  ruined,  or  by  religious 
feelings.  The  satirist  lashes  vice  largely  because  of  its 
folly ;  and  he  lashes,  besides  vice,  objects  which  are  not 
necessarily  in  the  least  immoral.     Thus  Swift  may  include 

149 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

vice  in  his  satirical  pictures  in  Gulliver^s  Travels  \  but  he 
passes  far  beyond  vice  as  such.  His  real  object,  as  it  is 
the  real  object  of  every  satirist,  is  to  ridicule  follies.  It 
is  only  because  follies  when  exaggerated  often  become 
vicious  and  immoral  that  the  writer  of  satire  becomes  in 
many  cases  apparently  a  moralist.  Wycherley  is  no  moralist 
in  The  Plain  Dealer,  although  he  has  frequently  been  made 
out  to  be  such.  What  he  attacks  is  not  the  immoralities 
of  his  time,  but  the  follies — the  fops  and  the  simpletons  and 
the  would-be  wits. 

The  division  between  satire  and  pure  comedy  is,  as  is 
evident,  excessively  slight.  Satire  may  be  so  mild  that  it 
can  barely  be  detected  under  its  mask  of  laughter,  for  satire 
fades  in  some  of  its  forms  imperceptibly  into  both  wit  and 
humour.  Still,  the  fact  remains  that  we  really  do  not  laugh 
at  the  satirical  as  such  ;  we  laugh  at  the  purely  comic  quali- 
ties with  which  it  is  accompanied  or  in  which  it  is  enclosed. 
The  purest  of  comedy,  however,  usually  rules  satire  in  any 
form  out  of  its  province.  The  appeal  of  this  pure  comedy 
is  solely  to  the  laughing  force  within  us.  When  comedy  is 
thus  separated  from  the  moral  sense  and  even  from  satire 
which  lashes  follies,  including  vices  among  these  follies, 
it  is  evident  that  there  is  little  truth  in  the  old  claim  that 
"  Comedy  is  an  imitation  of  the  common  errors  of  our  life, 
which  he  representeth,  in  the  most  ridiculous  and  scornefuU 
sort  that  may  be  .  .  .  [so  that]  there  is  no  man  liuing,  but 
by  the  force  tructh  hath  in  nature,  no  sooner  seeth  these 
men  play  their  parts,  but  wisheth  them  in  Pistrinum"  ^ 
This  is  purely  the  argument  of  a  poetry-lover  who  has 
had  to  meet  the  attacks  of  a  misopoetic  moralist.  To  uS 
to-day  it  is  plain  that  there  is  not  the  slightest  hint  of  this 
in  the  purest  comedy  If  we  regard  types  as  types,  if  we 
do  not  sympathize  with  their  good  qualities,  then  we  have 

^  Sidney,  Apologie  jor  Poetrie,  ed.  Arber,  p.  45. 
150 


COMEDY 

no  hope  of  scorning  their  evil  quahties,  Bardolph  is  laugh- 
able, Pistol  is  laughable,  Sir  Martin  Mar-all  is  laughable ; 
but  we  assuredly  never  for  a  moment  w^ish  any  of  the  three 
"  in  Pistrinum.^'  The  satiric  spirit  may  at  times  become 
sufficiently  strong  in  a  comic  dramatist  to  make  him  ridicule 
certain  follies,  but  this  is  apart  from  his  main  aim,  which  is 
to  make  the  audience  laugh.  Of  direct  morality  in  comedy, 
as  in  tragedy,  there  is  absolutely  none. 

The  Social  Aspect  of  Comedy. — At  the  same  time, 
of  indirect  morality  of  a  sort  there  is  a  considerable  amount 
in  certain  kinds  of  comedy.  Morality  ultimately  springs 
from  social  conventions,  and  laughter  is  predominatingly 
social.  We  do  not  laugh  overmuch  when  we  are  by 
ourselves,  or,  if  we  do,  we  imagine  the  jest  shared  with 
some  other  person  or  persons.  A  witty  remark  read  in 
solitude  in  a  play  may  attract  our  intellect,  but  we  do  not 
laugh  at  it ;  a  humorous  character  may  appeal  to  us,  but  it 
will  not  make  us  laugh  as  the  same  character  would  do  in  a 
theatre.  Laughter  is  essentially  a  social  thing  ;  the  richest 
laughter  rises  out  of  the  group-mentality.  Laughter,  how- 
ever, as  we  have  seen,  is  in  most  of  its  forms  directed 
against  eccentricity  of  some  one  type  or  another.  To  such 
an  extent  is  this  true,  indeed,  that  M.  Bergson  has  declared 
that  insociability  on  the  part  of  the  object  of  laughter  is  a 
necessary  condition.  While  this  may  be  rather  a  straining 
of  a  particular  thesis,  it  must  be  admitted  that  in  the  majority 
of  cases  it  is  true.  Laughter,  then,  becomes  an  attack  by 
society  as  a  whole,  or  by  a  particular  portion  of  society,  on 
what  it  regards  as  anti-social,  something  out  of  the  way  and 
possibly  provocative  of  harm.^  This  laughter,  however,  is 
never  directed  against  anything  masterful  or  more  powerful 

^  That  this  closely  approaches  satire  is  obvious.  The  distinc- 
tion might  be  made  that  while  satire  is  conscious  this  cognate 
characteristic  of  the  comic  spirit  is  largely  unconscious. 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

than  the  ordinary.  The  laughter  of  society  goes  out  only 
toward  that  which  falls  lower  than  the  average  mentality  or 
the  average  custom.  Just  as  greatness  in  the  dramatis  per- 
sona of  a  tragedy  presupposes  a  lack  of  pity  in  the  audience, 
so  greatness  of  type  in  a  comedy  rules  out  the  possibility  of 
laughter  arising  at  that  type,  except,  indeed,  in  the  few  cases 
where  that  type  is  a  wit,  when  the  laughter  is  not  at,  but 
with,  him.  When  the  mentality  or  the  habits  of  the  type 
vary  from  the  ordinary  levels  of  social  conventionality,  and 
when  that  type  is  felt  to  be  not  greater  than  the  average, 
then  laughter  is  really  aroused,  and  is,  in  fact,  the  unacknow- 
ledged reproof  of  society.  A  miser  is  anti-social,  but 
because  of  his  meanness  he  becomes  lower  than  the  usual 
level,  and  is,  if  presented  as  a  type,  a  laughable  figure.  If 
he  is  presented  as  a  person,  on  the  other  hand,  the  laughter 
cannot  possibly  be  raised ;  we  could  never  dream  of  laughing, 
or  of  having  the  opportunity  for  laughing,  at  Simon  Eyre. 
So,  conceited  folly  is  anti-social,  and  society  will  laugh  with 
indifferent  merriment  at  the  clownish  airs  of  a  Pompey 
Doodle  and  at  the  self-assurance  of  a  Sir  Martin  Mar-all. 

From  this  point  of  view,  comedy  as  the  artistic  medium 
for  the  expression  of  laughter,  having  these  distinctly  social 
qualities,  may  be  regarded  from  a  quite  definitely  utilitarian 
standpoint ;  but,  for  the  most  part,  this  social  quality  in 
laughter  has  not  only  been  largely  lost  in  more  fully  developed 
communities,  but  is  never  consciously  in  the  mind  of  any 
particular  dramatist  at  the  moment  of  creation.  Comedy 
exists  not  for  any  purpose  it  may  have,  but  in  and  for  itself; 
it  does  not  even  require  to  have  any  of  that  sense  of  high 
morality  which  we  found  to  be  necessary  in  tragedy.  It  may 
be  that  the  morally  purer  comic  dramatists  are  those  who 
will  most  be  remembered,  because  of  our  sensibility  and  our 
feeling  of  moral  fitness,  but  laughter  exists  independently  of 
any  outward  considerations,  religious,  moral,  or  other.  It  is 
152 


COMEDY 

the  laughter  we  look  for  in  comedy,  not  the  sense  of  moral 
right  or  of  moral  wrong,  not  the  purpose  or  the  significance 
of  the  play. 

The  Sources  of  the  Comic. — The  source  of  the  risible 
is  a  subject  on  which  have  been  written  not  a  few  theses, 
brilliant  as  well  as  dull.  Fundamentally  different  these 
theses  are,  but  in  each  of  them  is  some  indication  of  the  truth. 
In  probably  not  a  single  one  of  them  are  all  the  reasons 
of  our  laughter  fully  analysed.  Aristotle  evidently  believed 
the  risible  to  lie  in  degradation  ;  men,  he  says,  are  in  comedy 
made  worse  than  they  are  and  consequently  become  objects 
of  merriment.^  Kant  and  after  him  a  whole  series  of 
critics  and  of  philosophers,  from  Schopenhauer  to  Hazlitt, 
have  discovered  the  secret  of  laughter  to  lie  in  the  incon- 
gruity of  two  facts,  two  ideas,  two  words,  or  two  associations. 
"  The  essence  of  the  laughable,"  declares  the  last-mentioned 
writer,  "is  the  incongruous,  the  disconnecting  of  one  idea 
from  another,  or  the  jostling  of  one  feeling  against  another." 
M.  Bergson,  going  farther  and  taking  this  view  in  his 
philosophical  sweep  of  the  subject,  has  devised  another  theory 
based  in  reality  on  both  those  referred  to  ;  namely,  that  the 
conditions  of  comedy  are  insociability  on  the  part  of  the  object 
of  laughter,  insensibility  on  the  part  of  the  laugher,  and  a 
certain  automatism  in  the  situation,  in  the  words,  or  in  the 
character  that  appears  ludicrous.^  This  theory  M.  Bergson 
has  traced  out  along  the  three  lines  of  repetition,  inversion, 
and  interference  de  series,  seeing  in  each  a  certain  reduction 
of  the  living  thing  to  a  machine-like  raideur  or  inelasticity. 

There  is  much  that  can  be  said  for  the  brilliant  French 

^  This  view  he  puts  forward  not  only  in  the  Poetics  but  also  in 
the  Nicomachean  Ethics.  Plato's  theory,  enunciated  in  the  Philebus 
and  since  elaborated  by  later  critics,  that  the  comic  is  funda- 
mentally malicious  should  be  taken  into  account  here. 

*  The  comic  for  Bergson  always  derives  from  "  something 
mechanical  encrusted  on  the  living." 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

philosopher's  theory  ;  yet  it  seems  not  quite  comprehensive. 
The  truth  lies  in  a  higher  harmony,  with  the  introduction 
of  perhaps  one  or  two  other  explanations  for  special  species 
of  merriment.  Degradation,  incongruity,  automatism,  of 
course,  may  mean  much  or  little,  may  include  much  or  little, 
according  to  the  interpretation  we  put  upon  the  words ;  but 
if  these  words  are  taken  at  their  ordinary  value  the  theories 
to  which  they  give  the  titles  would,  even  when  taken  together, 
hardly  seem  to  explain  all  the  manifestations  of  the  laughable. 
There  is,  for  example,  the  laughter  that  arises  at  times  out 
of  an  exceedingly  solemn  and  serious  situation,  not  because  of 
some  incident  or  word  or  person  that  may  appear  incongru- 
ous, but  because  of  some  mood  working  within  us.  There 
are  not,  I  presume,  many  people  who  on  some  such  occasion 
when  they  themselves  felt  serious  and  even  sad  have  not 
broken  into  a  smile,  if  not  into  open  laughter.  It  may  be 
that  there  is  subconsciously  an  incongruity  presented  either 
between  the  normal  mood  of  man  and  this  exceptional 
solemnity,  or  between  the  solemnity  and  some  unacknow- 
ledged idea  or  reminiscence  which  comes  dimly  to  the  con- 
sciousness and  arouses  the  laughter ;  but  it  would  appear 
more  probable  that  the  merriment  comes  straight  from  the 
sacred  or  solemn  occasion  itself,  that  the  smile  or  the  laugh  is 
an  unconscious  attempt  of  our  only  half-conscious  selves  to 
escape  from  the  bonds  of  the  solemn  and  the  sacred.  This 
merriment  at  sacred  things  or  on  solemn  occasions  is  a 
spontaneous  merriment ;  it  is  aroused  apparently  by  none  of 
those  springs  of  the  risible  which  have  been  indicated  above. 
This  spontaneous  laughter  must,  naturally,  be  carefully 
distinguished  from  the  laughter  that  may  arise  as  a  secondary 
result  of  it.  The  contrast  of  the  spontaneous  laugh  and  the 
solemnity  of  the  occasion  may  cause  others,  through  the  sense 
of  incongruity,  themselves  to  burst  into  merriment,  merri- 
ment that  is  clearly  explainable  under  the  theory  of  Hazlitt. 
154 


COMEDY 

The  essential  source  of  the  spontaneous  laugh  would  seem 
to  be  a  desire  for  liberation,  liberation  from  the  restraints 
of  society,  and  as  such  it  is  entirely  the  opposite  of  the  social 
laughter  analysed  by  M.  Bergson.  What  is  it  that  makes 
us  laugh  at  a  reference  to  the  indecent  ?  There  may,  of 
course,  be  a  double  reason  for  merriment  expressed  at  a 
'  smoking-room  '  story,  or  at  a  Restoration  comedy.  There 
may  be  wit  in  the  utterance,  or  there  may  be  incongruity 
of  a  rougher  sort ;  but  even  a  tale  or  a  dialogue  that  is 
not  essentially  witty  or  incongruous  may  cause  merriment. 
There  is  nothing  here  of  automatism  ;  other  reasons  must 
be  sought  for  if  we  are  to  explain  it  aright.  Mr  Sully  has 
suggested  that  the  reasons  for  this  laughter  lie  in  a  breach  of 
rule  or  of  order  and  in  a  loss  of  dignity,  but  even  these  do  not 
seem  to  meet  the  case.  The  real  cause  would  appear  to 
lie  in  the  sense  of  liberation  which  the  laugh  itself  involves. 
It  is  the  liberation  of  the  natural  man  from  the  ties  and  con- 
ventions of  society.  In  the  same  way,  we  may  explain  the 
laughter  which  greeted  in  the  Middle  Ages  the  appearance  of 
the  Devil-character  of  the  mystery  plays.  There  could  be 
little  sense  of  incongruity  in  this  and  none  of  automatism ; 
it  was  the  laugh  of  liberation,  just  as  the  Feast  of  Fools  was 
a  whole  festival  of  merriment,  celebrating  liberation  from 
the  too  strict  bonds  of  the  Church. 

Incongruity. — Degradation,  incongruity,  automatism, 
and  the  sense  of  liberation  are  all  sources  of  laughter,  and 
these  are  by  no  means  exhaustive.  Of  them  all,  however, 
undoubtedly  the  greatest  is  incongruity.  It  is  the  incon- 
gruity of  Jove  in  Amphitryon's  shape,  of  Mercury  in  the 
form  of  a  serving  man,  that  provides  the  prime  comic  essence 
of  Dryden's  play.  It  is  the  discrepancy  between  the  idea  and 
the  object  which  provides  the  cause  of  laughter  in  UEtourdi. 
It  is  the  incongruity  between  two  ideas  that  presents  to  us 
the  twin  qualities  of  wit  and  of  humour. 

155 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

In  another  chapter  it  was  stated  that  mere  eccentricity 
is  not  comic  unless  it  be  opposed  to  or  contrasted  with  some- 
thing that  is  normal.  No  comedy  can  be  a  true  comedy 
unless  there  is  presented  alongside  of  the  humorous  situation, 
words,  or  character  something  that  is  more  or  less  ordinary, 
A  comedy  full  of  eccentric  types  ceases  largely  to  be  a  cause 
of  merriment.  This  explains  the  fact  that  in  all  our  finest 
comedies  we  find  as  a  central  pivot  a  pair  or  a  quartette  of 
dramatis  persona  who,  although  not  closely  individualized, 
are  by  no  means  absurd,  and  around  them  a  body  of  mere 
eccentrics — characters  who  take  their  colouring  from  their 
contrast  with  the  central  figures.  In  Twelfth  Night  the 
Duke,  Sebastian,  Viola,  and  Olivia  form  the  centre  of  the 
picture ;  Sir  Toby  Belch  and  Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek  are 
ridiculous  because  seen  in  their  light.  In  J  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream  Theseus  and  Hippolyta  are  the  centre  ;  the 
artisans  are  absurd  in  comparison  with  them.  It  is  notice- 
able in  this  connexion  that  in  nearly  every  comedy  of  any 
outstanding  merit  we  find  two  sharply  differentiated  series  of 
names  given  to  the  dramatis  persona.  In  the  plays  cited 
above  Aguecheek,  Belch,  Snout,  Bottom,  Starveling  have 
'  humours '  names ;  Viola,  Olivia,  Theseus  and  the  rest 
have  ordinary  names  of  mankind.  The  Way  of  the  World 
has  Mirabel  and  Millamant,  beside  Witwoud,  Petulant, 
Waitwell,  Foible,  and  Mincing.  The  Provoked  Husband 
has  Manly  and  Lady  Grace,  and  around  them  Sir  Francis 
Wronghead,  Count  Basset,  John  Moody,  Mrs  Motherly, 
and  Mrs  Trusty. 

This  tendency  to  institute  a  comparison  between  two  sets 
of  characters  is  of  the  essence  of  the  comic  conflict ;  it  is  a 
feature  of  modern  drama  just  as  it  was  a  feature  of  the  drama 
of  ancient  Rome,  The  Eunuchus  of  Terence  has  Chremes 
and  Phaedria,  Antipho  and  Chaerea,  with  the  opposed 
characters  of  Gnatho  and  Thraso  and  Parmeno.  Heauton 
156 


COMEDY 

Timorumenos  presents  Clitipho  and  Clinia  as  opposed  to 
Chremes  and  A/Ienedemus,  Dromo  and  Sostrata.  So  in 
modern  times  we  find  the  average  intelligence  placed  in  strict 
juxtaposition  to  the  equivalents  of  the  old  fathers  and  the 
cheating  servants  and  the  vaunting  soldiers  of  the  ancient 
stage. 

Beyond  the  mere  enumeration  of  the  causes  of  merriment 
we  must  note  that  laughter  can  be  caused  both  consciously 
and  unconsciously,  and  that  it  may  take  on  varying  shapes  and 
forms  in  accordance  as  it  is  mingled  with  non-humorous 
matter.  Wit  is  thus,  as  we  have  already  seen,  purely  con- 
scious ;  the  wit  sets  himself  to  raise  a  laugh.  He  plays  with 
words;  his  fancy  works  swiftly,  and  out  of  the  movement  of 
his  fancy  he  orders  phrases  and  ideas  in  such  a  manner  that 
others  laugh  along  with  him.  The  absurd  on  the  other  hand 
is  purely  unconscious.  We  laugh  at  "  I'etourdi,"  but  he 
himself  is  quite  innocent  of  the  cause  of  our  merriment. 
This  distinction  between  wit  and  the  absurd  is,  naturally, 
an  important  one,  for  it  completely  separates  the  spirit  of 
Twelfth  Night  from  the  spirit  of  The  Way  of  the  World  \ 
the  two,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  belong  to  separate  and 
almost  unrelated  types  of  literary  composition.  In  many 
ways  Twelfth  Night  is  far  more  nearly  allied  to  some  species 
of  early  tragedy  than  to  the  later  Restoration  comedy. 

Humour. — A  distinction  must  also  be  made  between  wit 
or  the  absurd  and  what  is  usually  known  as  humour.  The 
word  humour  has,  of  course,  had  an  exceedingly  varied 
history  from  its  inception  as  of  the  kin  of  humid,  through  its 
Jonsonian  sense  in  the  seventeenth  century,  to  its  modern, 
rather  indefinite  signification.  Humour  is  not  the  same  as 
the  ludicrous  ;  humour  in  some  of  its  forms  barely  makes  us 
smile.  We  can  readily  in  concrete  examples  separate  it  both 
from  wit  and  from  the  absurd,  yet  it  is  difficult  to  place  our 
finger  on  the  precise  points  wherein  it  diflFers  from  these. 

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INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

"  Humour,"  decides  Hazlitt,  "  is  the  describing  the  ludicrous 
as  it  is  in  itself;  wit  is  the  exposing  it,  by  comparing  or  con- 
trasting it  with  something  else."  This,  from  the  point  of 
view  of  comic  creation,  is  certainly  true  ;  but  it  does  not 
explain  why  one  character  or  one  phrase  is  styled  humorous 
and  another  witty  ;  nor  does  it  explain  wherein  lies  the 
difference  between  the  ludicrous  and  humour.  M.  Bergson, 
proceeding  farther,  discovered  in  humour  the  inverse  of 
irony.  In  irony  we  pretend  to  believe  what  we  do  not 
believe ;  in  humour  we  pretend  to  disbelieve  what  we 
actually  believe.  This  carries  us  considerably  nearer  the 
goal  of  definition  ;  but  even  this  theory  is  not  of  universal 
application.  It  may  explain  some,  nay  many,  forms  of 
humour,  but  it  leaves  quite  a  number  totally  unaccounted  for. 
The  most  thorough  and  the  most  far-reaching  analysis  yet 
presented  to  us  is  undoubtedly  that  given  by  Mr  Sully  in  his 
Essay  on  Laughter.      His  words  may  be  quoted  in  full. 

These  contrasts  [between  ordinary  laughter  and  the  laughter 
that  arises  from  humour]  point  dearly  enough  to  certain  positive 
characteristics  of  the  moods  of  humour.  A  quiet  survey  of  things, 
at  once  playful  and  reflective  ;  a  mode  of  greeting  amusing  shows 
which  seems  in  its  moderation  to  be  both  an  indulgence  in  the  sense 
of  fun  and  an  expiation  for  the  rudeness  of  such  indulgence ;  an 
outward,  expansive  movement  of  the  spirits  met  and  retarded  by  a 
cross-current  of  something  like  kindly  thoughtfulncss ;  these  clearly 
reveal  themselves  as  some  of  its  dominant  traits. 

Humour  is,  says  Mr  Sully,  distinctly  a  sentiment,  yet  at  the 
same  time  it  is  markedly  intellectual. 

These  qualities  of  restraint,  of  reflection,  of  pity,  of  kindli- 
ness are  assuredly  the  distinguishing  marks  of  the  humorous 
temperament.  The  presentation  of  the  ludicrous  can  be 
cruel  and  coarse,  as  in  the  comedies  of  Shadwcll ;  wit  can  be 
biting  and  cynical,  as  in  the  comedies  of  Etherege  and  of 
Congreve  ;  humour  is  always  mellow  and  generally  refined. 
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COMEDY 

It  is  certainly  intellectual  in  that  it  appears  only  after  a  large 
and  comprehensive  view  of  the  world;  its  greatest  exponents 
have  nearly  all  been  men  of  intense  intellectuality;  but,  at 
the  same  time,  they  have  been  men  of  feeling.  If  insensi- 
bility is  demanded  for  pure  laughter  sensibility  is  rendered 
necessary  for  true  humour.  Humour  we  shall  find  is  often 
related  to  melancholy  of  a  peculiar  kind ;  not  a  fierce 
melancholy,  but  a  melancholy  that  arises  out  of  pensive 
thoughts  and  a  brooding  on  the  ways  of  mankind.  Had 
Congreve  written  of  Don  Quixote  he  would  have  made  of 
the  Knight  de  la  Mancha  a  figure  larger  than,  but  on  the 
same  scale  as,  his  own  Petulant  or  Witwoud.  He  would 
have  had  not  the  slightest  sympathy  for  the  eccentric 
medievalist.  Cervantes,  on  the  other  hand,  being  a  humorist, 
has  laughfid,  but  his  laughter  is  tinged  with  and  mellowed  by 
sympathy  and  even  by  a  certain  melancholy  of  spirit.  So 
far,  M.  Bergson's  theory  is  right — that  the  humorist  often 
takes  delight  in  poking  fun  at  that  which  he  holds  most 
sacred  or  at  that  for  which  he  has  a  secret  sympathy.  The 
absurd  character  puts  forward  all  his  follies,  unconsciously, 
to  the  world  ;  the  man  of  wit  sneers  and  mocks  at  everything 
which  is  different  from  himself;  the  humorist  is  himself  an 
eccentric  who  sees  the  fun  of  his  eccentricity.  This  fact  is 
very  clearly  to  be  seen  in  the  humorous  stories  of  such 
nationalities  as  the  Scotch  and  the  Irish.  The  Scotsman  and 
the  Irishman  delight  in  telling  tales  against  themselves  or 
against  their  own  country,  not  because  they  despise  their 
countries,  but  because  they  love  their  countries,  even  although 
a  sense  of  humour  displays  to  them  their  native  eccentricities. 
Humour  therefore  is  a  union  of  unconscious  with  conscious 
laughter.  Wit  is  the  laughter  of  the  ordinary  man  or  of  the 
intellectual  man  directed  at  others  abnormal ;  humour  is  the 
laughter  of  the  eccentric  directed  against  himself. 

In  this  brief  survey  of  some  of  the  main  theories  regarding 

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INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

the  laughable  we  have  found,  first,  that  there  are  three 
cardinal  reasons  for  an  object's  being  ludicrous — degradation, 
incongruity,  automatism  ;  and  alongside  of  these  a  number 
of  subsidiary  causes,  such  as  the  sense  of  liberation  ;  second, 
that  the  objects  of  laughter  are  unconscious  of  their 
ridiculousness  ;  and,  third,  that  there  are  two  species  of  the 
risible,  wit  and  humour,  which  lie  apart  from  the  rest 
in  being  conscious  and,  in  the  case  of  humour,  sympathetic. 
In  the  world  of  the  theatre  these  various  species  of  the  laugh- 
able are  presented  in  five  main  ways — through  the  physical 
attributes  of  the  dramatis  persona,  through  the  mentalities  of 
these  dramatis  persona,  through  the  situation,  through  the 
manners,  and  through  the  words.  A  rapid  survey  of  concrete 
instances  may  close  this  section. 

Laughter  arising  from  Physical  Attributes. — The 
laughter  that  arises  from  merely  physical  attributes  of  the 
dramatis  persona  in  a  comedy  is  obviously  of  the  lowest 
possible  kind.  The  music-hall  comedian  and  the  clown  in 
the  circus  know  how  to  raise  coarse  laughter  by  this  means  ; 
but  no  great  comedy  will  depend  upon  it  for  more  than 
an  infinitesimal  part  of  its  merriment.  The  principle  of 
degradation  provides  for  physical  deformities  of  a  laughable 
type.  Bardolph's  nose  is  a  deformity  that  is  meant  to  cause 
laughter  in  The  Merry  JVives  of  Windsor,  and  it  succeeds  to 
a  certain  extent.  This  source  of  the  comic,  however,  is 
seriously  restricted  not  only  by  the  fact  that  even  the  most 
unintelligent  will  recognize  its  low  character,  but  by  the  fact 
that  pity  forbids  us  to  laugh  at  genuine  deformities.  We 
could  not  laugh  at  a  blind  man  or  at  a  man  on  crutches, 
unless  in  such  a  case  as,  for  example,  that  of  an  elderly  man 
suffering  from  gout  hopping  in  rage  over  the  boards  of  the 
theatre.  Here,  however,  the  merriment  arises  not  merely 
from  the  deformity  as  such,  but  from  the  fact  that  the  man 
for  a  moment  has  been  made  into  a  mere  object  without  the 
1 60 


COMEDY 

control  of  his  own  limbs.  Deformity  of  another  type  appears 
in,  let  us  say,  the  affectedly  ridiculous  dress  of  Malvolio  or 
of  the  Gallicized  fops  of  the  Restoration  period.  These, 
taken  along  with  Bardolph's  nose,  may  lead  toward  a  certain 
generalizing  in  regard  to  this  type  of  the  laughable.  We 
laugh  not  so  much  at  the  mere  physical  deformities  as  at  the 
deformities  brought  about  by  mental  action  or  by  foolish 
habit.  Bardolph's  nose  arises  from  his  propensity  for  drink, 
just  as  does  the  gouty  foot  of  the  old  gentleman  ;  Malvolio 
was  not  ridiculously  garbed  by  nature,  but  by  himself. 

The  principle  of  degradation,  also,  is  to  be  seen  partly  in 
certain  characters,  partly  in  certain  situations,  of  a  type  such 
as  is  presented  in  The  Spanish  Fryar.  There  the  jealous 
little  conceited  money-lender  is  beaten  and  ill-treated  ;  he 
has  suffered  a  loss  of  dignity,  and  the  degradation  arouses  our 
merriment.  Of  the  same  type  is  the  degradation  of  the 
shrew  or  of  the  '  tamer  tamed ' ;  a  degradation,  however,  that 
is  not  wholly  physical,  but  rather  arises  out  of  the  situation. 

Physical  incongruity  is  also  a  rich  source  of  rather  coarse 
merriment.  The  laughter  or  the  smile  that  may  come  from 
the  sight  of  a  very  tall  woman  alongside  of  her  very  diminu- 
tive husband  is  due  to  this.  The  sight  of  Titania,  frail  and 
ethereal,  beside  the  ass-eared  Bottom  is  equally  risible,  and 
for  the  same  cause.  It  is  because  of  this  that  in  the  music- 
halls  of  to-day  we  frequently  find  the  comedians  going  in 
pairs  j  one  excessively  tall  man  going  with  an  abnormally 
tiny  one.  Falstaff  sails  forward  in  his  bulk  with  his  little 
page  following  him,  the  contrast  arousing  our  mirth  because 
of  the  incongruity  of  the  pair. 

An  example  of  physical  automatism  might  be  taken  from 
Sir  Martin  Mar-all.  There  Sir  John  Swallow  and  Moody 
are  placed  on  the  top  of  several  stools,  one  set  on  the  other. 
They  who  have  had  most  say  in  the  moving  forward  of 
the  plot  have  suddenly  been  made  no  better  than  machines, 

L  i6i 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

objects  incapable  of  movement  unless  the  other  characters 
come  to  their  assistance.  The  situation  in  itself  is  laugh- 
able, but  the  greater  part  of  the  merriment  arises  out  of 
the  physical  positions  of  the  two  characters.  Of  a  similar 
nature  is  the  powerlessness  of  Katharina  in  The  Taming 
of  the  Shrew  :  by  her  husband  she  has  been  reduced  from 
a  thinking  being,  independent  and  capable  of  action,  into 
an  automatic  machine. 

In  surveying  these  scattered  examples  of  laughter  arising 
from  physical  causes,  it  is  evident  that  we  cannot  always 
diagnose  exactly  the  immediate  source  of  our  laughter,  or, 
rather,  that  that  laughter  may  take  its  rise  from  a  variety  of 
causes  operating  all  at  the  one  time.  Thus  physical  appear- 
ance, character,  situation,  and  words  may  all  influence  us, 
and  automatism  join  with  the  sense  of  degradation.  This  is 
particularly  true  of  physical  attributes  and  of  character. 

Laughter  arising  from  Character. — In  character 
we  may  find  one  of  the  richest  and  highest  media  for  the 
arousing  of  laughter  possible  to  the  dramatist.  Although 
comedy  does  not  deal  with  personalities  and  with  individu- 
alities as  does  tragedy,  yet  types  of  character  form  its  basis. 
It  is  the  presence  of  character  that  largely  differentiates 
true  comedy  from  farce. 

Mental  deformity  is  obviously  one  of  the  handiest  themes 
for  the  comic  playwright.  This  deformity  may  or  may  not 
be  a  vice,  but  it  must  be  a  folly.  The  stupid  conceit  of 
Sir  Martin  Mar-all  or  of  Malvolio,  the  porcine  stupidity  of 
Dogberry  and  Verges,  the  irritating  and  irritated  vanity  of 
Petulant,  all  in  a  variety  of  ways  give  the  dramatists  oppor- 
tunity for  the  introduction  of  the  risible.  M.  Bergson  has 
related  all  of  these  to  his  theory  of  the  automatic,  averring 
that  our  laughter  comes,  not  from  the  sense  of  the  mental 
deformity,  but  from  the  sense  that  the  particular  figure  is, 
as  it  were,  in  the  hands  of  his  deformity,  that  none  of  those 
162 


COMEDY 

persons  mentioned  above  are  men,  but  merely  machines  in 
the  control  of  their  '  humours.'  It  does  not,  of  course, 
precisely  matter  which  name  we  give  to  it,  but  the  truth 
probably  lies  between  the  two  theories.  It  is  possible  that 
our  laughter  arises  from  a  double  source,  and  that  the 
automatism  and  the  deformity  are  both  present  to  our  minds 
subconsciously  in  the  very  midst  of  our  laughter.  Mr  Sully 
has  well  pointed  out  in  connexion  with  this  laughter  arising 
out  of  the  sight  of  mental  deformity  that  our  laugh  is  not 
by  any  means  a  moral  laugh.  Our  merriment  is  not  by  any 
means  confined  to  vices  ;  it  is  directed  against  eccentricities, 
against  extremes  of  any  kind.  It  is  applied,  therefore,  as 
heartily  to  virtues  in  an  exaggerated  form  as  to  vices. 

Mental  incongruity  is  another  prime  source  of  merriment, 
either  incongruity  within  one  character  (inner  conflict)  or 
between  two  characters  (outward  conflict).  A  typical  scene 
of  the  inner  incongruity  is  presented  by  Shakespeare  when 
he  brings  in  Sir  Hugh  Evans,  stripped,  and  preparing  for  a 
duel  with  Dr  Caius.  We  know  Evans  for  a  mild  and  inoffen- 
sive schoolmaster,  and  the  sight  of  him  here,  alternately 
lunging  at  an  imaginary  enemy  and  falling  on  his  knees  for 
fear,  is  truly  laughable.  More  commonly,  as  we  have  seen, 
the  incongruity  is  presented  not  as  an  inner  conflict,  but 
as  a  contrast  between  two  eccentric  figures.  The  comic 
characters  in  the  plays  of  the  manners  school  usually  enter 
in  pairs.  Petulant  is  opposed  to  Witwoud;  Sir  Martin 
Mar-all  is  opposed  to  Sir  John  Swallow.  So  in  Shakespeare 
there  is  Autolycus  and  the  Clown  ;  Stephano  and  Trinculo  ; 
Touchstone  and  Jacques.  Here  obviously  there  is  a  very 
mixed  cause  for  our  laughter,  the  characters  contributing 
something  in  themselves,  much  more  in  conjunction,  with 
words  and  situation  playing  almost  equal  parts. 

Mental  automatism  may  perhaps  be  differentiated  in  a  way 
from  mental  deformity.     Sir  Martin  Mar-all's  conceit  is  a 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

true  mental  deformity,  but  his  mere  repetition  of  certain 
phrases — "  In  fine  "  being  the  most  famous — is  not  exactly 
a  deformity,  but  a  piece  of  sheer  mechanical  utterance.  It  is 
possible,  of  course,  that  no  strict  division  can  be  made  between 
the  two,  but  there  is  apparently  a  slight  variation  between  the 
confusion  of  words,  such  as  we  find  in  Mrs  Malaprop,  due 
to  true  mental  deformity,  and  this  automatic  repetition  of 
familiar,  if  often  meaningless,  phrases. 

Laughter  arising  from  Situation. — The  situation, 
however,  as  forming  the  basis  of  the  plot  of  any  comedy, 
presents  to  the  dramatist  possibly  the  very  fullest  opportunity 
for  the  introduction  of  the  laughable.  The  physical  person 
and  the  character  are  nearly  always  shown  not  isolated,  but 
in  the  midst  of  some  other  persons,  in  a  situation  itself  of  an 
amusing  character.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  mere  comedy  of  situation  will  lead  to  nothing  but 
farce;  that, although  an  audience  looks  to  situation  far  more 
than  to  character  or  to  words,  situation  offers  an  opportunity 
only  for  the  introduction  of  a  very  limited  kind  of  laughter. 

Countless  are  the  situations  based  upon  the  principle  of 
degradation.  Several  examples  of  these  have  already  been 
cited  above.  Stripping  the  dignity  from  a  set  of  circum- 
stances, dragging  down  the  seriousness  of  a  situation  to 
trivial  realms,  will  always  awaken  our  merriment.  It  is 
amusing  to  watch  the  situations  in  which  FalstafF  finds  him- 
self with  the  "  merry  wives  "  \  it  is  amusing  to  see  the  pert 
Malvolio  divested  of  his  dignity  and  immured  in  a  mad-cell. 
We  could  pass  through  the  whole  range  of  English  comic 
drama  and  discover  but  a  small  percentage  of  comedies  which 
have  not  in  some  way  or  another  made  use  of  this  device. 

The  situation  of  incongruous  circumstances  is  no  less 
common.  When  Theseus  is  faced  with  the  play  of  Pyramus 
and  Thisbe  the  situation  is  incongruous.  There  is  a  certain 
incongruity  in  the  second  act  of  The  Way  of  the  World 
164 


COMEDY 

when  we  discover  Mirabel  walking  off  with  Mrs  Fainall, 
and  Fainall  with  Mrs  Marwood,  both  for  the  purpose  of 
upbraiding  their  mistresses.  This  incongruity  evidently  may 
arise  out  of  the  events  themselves,  or  out  of  the  conflict 
between  the  character  and  the  events,  or  out  of  the  contrast 
of  two  persons,  who  may  be  both  eccentric,  or  one  eccentric 
and  the  other  normal,  or  both  normal.  The  example  given 
from  The  Way  of  the  World  may  be  taken  as  representing 
the  last  mentioned.  Incongruity  arising  out  of  the  normal 
and  the  eccentric  occurs  in  the  famous  serenade  scene  of 
Sir  Martin  Mar-all  \  and  a  scene  of  two  eccentric  characters 
in  conflict  is  that  duel  episode  already  mentioned  from  The 
Merry  Wives  of  Windsor.  The  variations  in  which  any  of 
these  may  actually  appear  are,  quite  obviously,  infinite. 

A  situation  involving  M.  Bergson's  theory  of  automatism 
depends,  on  the  contrary,  almost  entirely  on  the  events. 
The  characters  are  in  the  grip  of  the  machine,  powerless 
to  alter  or  to  shape  their  destiny.  In  this  way  the  repetition 
of  the  same  or  of  a  similar  scene  leads  toward  a  sense  of  the 
mechanical.  There  is  this  effect  in  the  second  act  of  The 
Way  of  the  World,  just  as  there  is  in  several  scenes  of 
The  Comedy  of  Errors.  Here,  too,  enters  what  M.  Bergson 
has  styled  the  interference  de  series,  the  placing  of  one  theme 
upon  another.  This  method  of  securing  laughter  has  not, 
probably,  been  so  fully  utilized  in  comedy  as  it  has  been  in 
the  novel,  possibly  because  of  the  difficulty  of  presenting  in 
comedy  the  two  series  in  an  equally  elaborated  form.  Mark 
Twain  can  obtain  a  finely  ludicrous  effect  in  The  Innocents 
Abroad  from  the  superimposition  on  the  relics  of  ancient 
Rome  of  the  modern  American  vitality  and  temperament. 
National  humour  and  the  genuinely  absurd  in  situation  and 
in  character  are  in  this  book  too,  but  the  main  source  of 
the  laughter  in  it  comes  from  its  general  scheme.  This 
interference  de  series  has  certainly  been   used  by  a  number 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

of  comic  dramatists,  but  always  in  a  somewhat  modified 
manner.  It  appears  in  the  second  part  of  Henry  IV,  where 
the  Falstaff  scenes  are,  as  it  were,  superimposed  upon  the 
scenes  of  genuine  heroism.  It  appears  similarly  in  the 
contrast  between  the  artisans  and  the  noble  Theseus  in 
A  Midsummer  Nighfs  Dream,  and  it  appears  in  Much  Ado 
about  Nothing,  where  the  Dogberry  and  Verges  episodes  are 
run  into  the  episodes  of  Leonato  and  his  company. 

The  sense  of  liberation  occurs  in  comic  situation  also,  but, 
because  of  its  often  cynical  and  blasphemous  effect,  tends  to 
appear  only  in  restricted  periods  of  dramatic  output.  The 
indecent  situations  in  the  Restoration  comedy  are  laughable 
when  regarded  from  this  point  of  view  ;  they  are  nauseous 
if  regarded  from  the  standpoint  of  strict  morality.  Dryden's 
satirical  references  to  the  Church  and  to  deity  in  The  Spanish 
Fryar  are  amusing  if  we  do  not  look  upon  them  from  the 
definitely  religious  aspect.  Both  the  one  and  the  other  are 
escapes — escapes  from  the  trammels  of  civilization  and  of  the 
Church.  The  natural  man  attempts  in  them  to  free  himself 
for  a  moment  from  the  fetters  that  have  changed  him  from  a 
savage  to  a  clothed  being  in  the  midst  of  a  series  of  laws  and 
customs  and  conventions.  Situations  of  this  kind,  however, 
are  dangerous,  and  nearly  all  dramatists,  except  the  naif 
playwrights  of  the  Middle  Ages  and  the  cynical  playwrights 
of  the  age  of  the  Restoration,  have  neglected  them.  They 
may  occur  in  modern  drama,  but  only  in  an  exceedingly 
restricted  and  circumscribed  form.  As  civilization  advances 
it  is  probably  more  and  more  careful  to  prevent  these  sudden 
moments  of  liberation  through  reference  to  things  which  it 
habitually  conceals. 

Laughter  arising  from  Manners. — Along  with  the 
physical  appearance,  with  the  character,  and  with  the 
situation  goes  what  we  may  style  manners.  There  is  a 
comique  de  mcvurs  as  well  as  a  comique  de  situation  and  a 
1 66 


COMEDY 

comique  de  caractere.  The  manners,  of  course,  are  often  ex- 
pressed through  the  medium  of  the  situation  and  of  the  words, 
and  they  themselves  are  reflections  of  character,  but  very  often 
they  stand  separately  in  a  different  category  from  the  others. 
Deformity  of  manners  might  be  instanced  by  a  lack  of 
savoir  fa'tre.  The  awkwardness  of  a  certain  type  of  char- 
acter in  a  circle  of  easy  and  refined  figures  is  amusing  ; 
just  as  the  awkwardness  of  a  society  lady  in  a  circle  of  more 
natural  but  less  polished  working-class  women  is  amusing. 
The  lack  of  ease  displayed  by  a  conservative  addressing  a 
labour  club  and  by  a  working  man  addressing  a  circle  of 
more  educated  persons  have  both  in  them,  when  stripped  of 
political  or  sentimental  feelings,  something  of  the  ludicrous. 
The  manners  are  not  exactly  deformed,  but  they  are  below 
the  level,  or  out  of  the  level,  of  the  particular  society  or  of 
the  particular  part  of  society. 

Incongruity,  of  course,  is  present  here  as  well,  and  it  is 
difficult  to  say  exactly  where  the  one  begins  and  the  other 
ends.  The  introduction  of  the  sailor  Ben  in  Congreve's 
comedy,  for  example,  is  incongruous,  and  most  of  our 
merriment  arises  from  the  sense  of  this  incongruity  ;  part, 
however,  certainly  comes  from  the  sense  that  his  manners 
are  not  the  manners  of  the  people  with  whom  he  comes  in 
contact.  The  laughter  of  the  primitive  peasant  or  of  the 
civilized  man  at  the  manners  of  a  foreigner  may  depend  to  a 
certain  extent  on  incongruity,  but  more  perhaps  on  the  very 
difference  in  the  manners  themselves.  The  numerous  intro- 
ductions of  foreign  types,  therefore,  in  comedy  rely  for  their 
humorous  effects  partly  on  the  one  and  partly  on  the  o.ther. 

Added  to  this  there  is  automatism.  Here  the  effect  may 
take  one  of  several  forms.  The  mechanical  manners  may 
be  due  to  character,  as  in  the  case  of  Ben.  They  may,  on 
the  contrary,  be  due  only  indirectly  to  character;  they 
may  be  taken  directly  from  imitation  of  other  manners. 

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INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Sir  Martin  Mar-all  is  comic  because  he  has  attempted  to 
adopt  the  airs  and  the  actions  of  the  French  ;  Sir  Harry 
Wildair,  in  a  similar  way,  although  he  is  no  fool  as  the 
other  is,  has  something  ludicrous  about  him  because  of  his 
imitated  customs.  The  manners  of  a  character,  however, 
may  derive  wholly,  not  from  his  own  character  or  from  any 
conscious  imitation,  but  from  the  society  in  which  he  has 
been  brought  up.  A  lawyer  who  cannot  escape  from  the 
atmosphere  of  the  law ;  a  doctor  who  cannot  escape  from 
the  spirit  of  medicine  ;  a  professor  who  cannot  escape  from 
the  university  environment ;  the  old  man  who  cannot  see 
anything  good  in  the  newer  age — all  of  these  are  amusing 
because  in  each  case  the  man  has  become  a  machine  at  the 
mercy  of  those  feelings  and  manners  which  have  been  placed 
upon  him  by  his  surroundings. 

Laughter  arising  from  Words. — Finally,  among  the 
species  of  the  unconsciously  humorous  in  the  theatre,  there 
is  the  laughable  that  arises  from  the  dialogue — le  comique 
de  mots.  This  comic  spirit  derived  from  the  words  in  a 
play  shares  in  point  of  importance  a  position  equal  to  that 
held  by  character  and  by  situation.  The  word  reveals 
the  character;  it  explains  and  intensifies  the  ridiculousness 
of  a  situation.  Comedy  of  a  type  may  exist  without  words, 
like  the  mimetic  pantomime,  where  physical  appearance 
and  gesture  made  up  for  the  silence  of  the  piece  ;  but  such 
comedy  must  by  its  very  nature  be  not  only  temporary, 
but  purely  farcical.  The  gesture  can  express  but  an  in- 
finitesimal part  of  the  thoughts  and  of  the  desires  of  the 
figures  upon  the  stage. 

The  deformed  word,  if  we  may  speak  of  such,  finds 
its  typical  example  in  the  speeches  of  Mrs  Malaprop,  but 
Mrs  Malaprop  is  only  one  of  a  number  of  characters  who, 
before  her,  spoke  in  a  similar  strain.  This  deformity  of 
language,  naturally,  combines  with  incongruity  and  other 
i68 


COMEDY 

forms  of  the  laughable  for  its  full  effect.  The  most  amusing 
of  Mrs  Malaprop's  phrases  are  those  where  there  is  not 
merely  a  simple  deformation  of  the  word,  but  where  the 
deformed  word  has  itself  a  significance  wholly  incongruous, 
where  there  is  raised  a  contrast  between  the  idea  (the  word 
that  was  meant)  and  the  object  (the  word  as  it  was  uttered). 
The  merely  deformed  is  not  always  even  amusing,  either 
in  words  or  in  persons,  and  the  finer  dramatists  have  always 
endeavoured  to  add  to  the  effect  by  blending  together  this 
and  some  other  forms  of  the  comic. 

Incongruity  of  words  is,  as  must  be  evident,  still  more 
ridiculous  than  mere  maltreating  of  them.  Unconscious 
incongruity  must  here,  of  course,  be  carefully  distinguished 
from  conscious  incongruity,  which  is  wit.  The  intro- 
duction of,  let  us  say,  a  hearty  swear-word  in  a  company 
of  refined  and  delicate  maiden  ladies  will  have  an  incon- 
gruous effect,  but  it  may  be  perfectly  unconscious  in  the 
sense  that  it  springs  naturally  from  the  lips  of  some  character 
innocent  of  the  dissonance  he  creates.  So  there  is  incon- 
gruity of  words  and  of  situation  in  Farquhar's  The  Constant 
Couple^  where  the  words  of  one  sphere  of  life  are  uttered  to 
a  person  of  another  sphere,  the  one  character  not  under- 
standing the  meaning  of  the  other.  Wit  and  unconscious 
word-humour  may,  of  course,  meet  together,  as  in  that  scene 
of  The  Double  Dealer  between  Careless  and  Sir  Paul  Plyant  : 

Careless  :    Alas-a-day  !    this  is  a  lamentable  story  ;    my  Lady 

must  be  told  on't ;   she  must,  i'  faith,  Sir  Paul ;    'tis 

an  injury  to  the  world. 
Sir  Paul :  Ah  !    would   to   Heaven  you  would,  Mr  Careless ; 

you  are  mightily  in  her  favour. 
Careless  :    I  warrant  you  ;   what,  we  must  have  a  son  some  way 

or  other. 
Sir  Paul :  Indeed,  I  should  be  mightily  bound  to  you  if  you 

could  bring  it  about,  Mr  Careless. 

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INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

There  are  here  quite  a  number  of  reasons  for  our  laughter 
at  such  a  passage.  There  is  the  innuendo  in  the  situation 
itself;  there  is  the  wit  of  Careless,  conscious  an^  assured; 
and  there  is  the  incongruity  in  the  words  of  Sir  Paul,  between 
what  he  says  and  what  he  actually  thinks. 

Incongruity  of  words,  in  a  manner  somewhat  similar  to 
the  above,  is  also  utilized  largely  by  comic  dramatists  in  a 
very  special  form.  Countless  are  the  situations  in  comedies 
ancient  and  modern  where  two  humorous  characters  have 
failed  to  understand  one  another.  There  is  not  here  the 
contrast  between  wit  and  the  ridiculous,  but  between  two 
ridiculous  elements,  the  real  fun  arising  out  of  the  incongruity 
of  the  words  utilized  by  each.  Examples  of  this  are  common 
from  the  days  of  Shakespeare  to  the  days  of  Sheridan. 

Automatism  in  the  use  of  words  is  closely  bound  up  with 
what  is  generally  known  as  le  mot  de  caractcre,  the  word 
that  expresses  the  mentality  of  a  particular  person,  but  it 
may  at  times  be  differentiated  from  that.  As  we  have  seen 
above,  the  "  In  fine  "  of  Sir  Martin  Mar-all  is  in  a  way  such 
a  mechanical  phrase,  and  his  insistence  on  the  "  plot  "  is 
another.  Occasionally  in  a  comedy  one  word  or  one  phrase 
occurs  again  and  again  in  varying  senses  and  forms  as  if  it 
were  a  machine  with  a  motion  of  its  own  driving  over  the 
characters  themselves.  Mere  automatism  of  this  sort,  how- 
ever, is  rare,  and  usually,  as  in  the  example  of  character  and 
of  situation  noted  above,  it  is  bound  up  with  incongruity  and 
with  kindred  sources  of  the  risible. 

Wit. — This  consideration  of  the  unconscious  humour  of 
words  leads  us  to  a  glance  at  the  conscious  variety  of  the  same 
species.  The  hon  mot,  as  we  have  seen,  depends  upon  incon- 
gruity, but  it  is  sharply  differentiated  from  the  unconscious 
incongruity  of  words.  Bon  mot,  esprit,  wit — these  are  the 
moods  and  expressions  of  a  highly  intelligent  man  playing 
with  his  fancies,  and  with  the  discrepancy  and  incongruity 
170 


COMEDY 

of  his  fancies,  for  the  delectation  of  himself  and  of  others. 
The  playwright,  of  course,  the  creator,  may  be  exercising 
the  faculty  of  wit  all  through  the  composition  of  his  particular 
work ;  but  wit  in  the  theatre  appears  only  in  certain  clearly 
defined  characters  of  a  highly  intellectual  and  fanciful  cast 
of  thought.  The  prime  example  of  such  is  the  figure  of 
Mirabel.  His  bans  mots  do  not  depend  on  situation,  and  only 
indirectly  do  they  express  his  own  character.  Fainall  and 
he  play  with  words  as  they  would  play  a  game  at  cards  : 

Fainall :  Not  at  all  ;  Witwoud  grows  by  the  knight,  like  a 
medlar  grafted  on  a  crab  :  one  will  melt  in  your 
mouth,  and  t'other  set  your  teeth  on  edge  ;  one  is  all 
pulp,  and  the  other  all  core. 

Mirabel :  So  one  will  be  rotten  before  he  be  ripe  ;  and  the 
other  will  be  rotten  without  ever  being  ripe  at  all. 

All  these  words  and  fancies  are  independent  of  time  and  of 
place  and  of  character.  They  are  the  deliberate  gambollings 
of  a  mind  swift  and  rich  in  fancy,  tutored  by  long  practice 
to  ease  and  facility  of  expression. 

Although  this  wit  is  one  of  the  highest  excellences  in  a 
comedy  it  must  be  confessed  that  often,  especially  when  it 
appears  in  excess,  it  may  ruin  the  true  comic  spirit  in  the 
theatre.  The  dangers  in  its  use  lie  in  the  facts  that  the 
esprit  or  bon  mot  may  be  placed  in  the  mouths  of  characters 
wholly  unfitted  to  give  expression  to  genuine  wit,  and  that 
the  dramatist,  in  his  continual  endeavour  to  keep  up  the 
sparkle  and  the  brilliance,  may  become  in  the  end  merely 
wearisome  and  monotonous.  We  cannot  fail  to  appreciate 
the  diamond-like  quality  of  The  Way  of  the  World  or  of 
The  Importance  of  being  Earnest,  but  in  both  we  feel  there  is 
something  lacking.  There  is  lacking  not  only  true  delinea- 
tion of  character,  but  situation  of  a  truly  amusing  kind.  All 
the  wit  is  on  the  surface  ;    it  does  not  penetrate  deeply  into 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

the  core  of  the  drama.  What  is  the  plot  of  The  Way  of  the 
World  ?  There  is  none.  What  are  the  characters  ?  Mere 
puppets,  the  mechanical  mouthpieces  for  the  utterance  of 
the  conceits  of  the  author.  What  are  the  situations  ? 
Weak  and  uninteresting,  relieved  only  by  the  brilliance  of 
the  dialogue. 

Wit,  therefore,  we  may  say,  although  it  is  one  of  the 
highest  types  of  comic  expression,  when  presented  in  an 
exaggerated  form  kills  the  play  in  which  it  appears.  It 
carries  the  artificiality  which  is  present  in  all  high  comedy 
to  a  point  of  absurdity,  so  that  we  can  feel  in  no  way  the 
connexion  between  the  figures  on  the  stage  and  real  life. 
Comedy  in  this  presents  the  same  phenomenon  as  was 
presented  by  tragedy.  Just  as  in  tragedy  there  was  a  union 
of  high  ideality  and  a  profound  realism,  so  in  comedy  do  we 
find  an  intense  artificiality  in  the  presentation  of  types  and 
of  situations,  but  at  the  same  time  an  ever-present  relation- 
ship established  between  that  seeming  artificiality  and  the 
world  outside  the  theatre.  The  Way  of  the  Worlds  there- 
fore, although  it  is  probably  the  most  brilliant  comedy  of 
wit  we  possess,  fails  when  placed  alongside  of  the  truly 
richer  and  more  profound  drama.  Love  for  Love. 

Humour  in  Comedy. — Humour,  likewise,  has  been 
found  to  differ  from  the  unconsciously  ludicrous,  and  from 
the  conscious  play  of  fancy  as  expressed  in  wit.  Wit  is 
brilliant ;  humour  never  so.  Wit  is  clear  and  refined  and 
cultured ;  humour  is  whimsical.  Wit  is  modern  in  its 
expression  and  aristocratic  in  its  tone  ;  humour  has  always 
some  half-wistful  glance  at  the  past  and  is  generally  humble 
in  its  utterance. 

Humour  gives  always  to  comedy  a  mellowed  note  that 
stands  in  strange  contrast  to  the  hardness  and  insensibility 
of  the  play  of  wit.  In  it,  as  we  have  seen,  sentiment  and 
intellect  are  united  ;  a  spirit  of  kindliness  meets  with  a  spirit 
172 


COMEDY 

of  satire.  "  The  fault  of  Shakespeare's  comic  Muse,"  says 
Hazlitt,  "  is  that  it  is  too  good-natured  and  magnanimous 
...  I  do  not,  in  short,  consider  comedy  as  exactly  an  affair 
of  the  heart  or  the  imagination,  and  it  is  for  this  reason 
only  that  I  think  Shakespeare's  comedies  deficient."  This 
criticism  is  penetrating,  but  it  tends  to  lose  sight  of  the  fact 
that  there  are  in  comedy  many  totally  divergent  species, 
dependent  in  their  turn  upon  the  diverse  types  of  the 
ludicrous.  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew  depends  on  the  ridi- 
culous situation  and  is  a  farce ;  Volpone  depends  on  the 
satire ;  The  Way  of  the  World  depends  on  the  ho7i  mot  \ 
Live  for  Love  depends  on  manners  and  on  character ; 
Twelfth  Night  depends  on  humour.  This  comedy  of 
humour  is  as  important  a  species  as  any  of  the  others,  and, 
moreover,  it  has  to  be  judged  on  its  own  standards,  not  by 
reference  to  other  different  types  of  comic  productivity. 
The  fact  that  kindliness  and  a  certain  broader  aspect  of  man- 
kind (Hazlitt's  "  good-natured  and  magnanimous  "  elements) 
appear  in  it  should  not  blind  us  to  its  real  excellences. 
The  fact  that  its  serious  undertone  often  reaves  away  from 
it  the  spirit  of  pure  laughter  must  not  make  us  rule  it  out  of 
the  realms  of  comedy  proper. 

Humour,  naturally,  may  appear  in  comedy  in  many 
different  ways.  The  humour  of  character  is  to  be  dis- 
covered in  its  fullest  form  in  the  person  of  Falstaff.  Falstaff 
is  highly  intellectual;  at  the  same  time  there  is  in  him  just 
sufficient  of  emotion  and  of  whimsicality  to  turn  him  from 
a  wit  into  a  humorist.  He  is  fat  and  he  laughs  at  his 
fatness.  There  is  more  than  a  hint  that  he  runs  away  at 
Gadshill  solely  for  the  pleasure  of  indulging  in  the  exquisite 
joke  of  the  lie.  He  poses  continually  for  the  sake  of 
arousing  laughter.  He  does  not  make  fun  exclusively  of 
others  ;  he  himself  is  the  butt  of  his  own  wit.  It  is  quite 
sufficient  to  compare  Falstaff  with  any  of  the  heroes  of 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Congreve  to  see  the  vast  gulf  that  lies  between  the  two. 
Mirabel  would  never  dream  of  laughing  at  himself;  he  is 
too  self-assured,  too  unemotional,  ever  to  dream  of  such  a 
thing.  It  is  Falstaff's  main  pleasure  and  joy  in  life  so  to 
indulge  in  pleasantry  at  his  own  appearance  and  at  his 
own  habits. 

Humour  may  be  displayed  also  through  the  media  of  the 
situations,  of  the  words,  and  of  the  manners.  The  situation 
in  which  Bottom  finds  himself  is  not  amusing  because  of  the 
character  of  Bottom,  for  he  is  not  Falstaff ;  it  is  amusing 
because  of  the  whimsicality  with  which  it  is  presented,  the 
mirth  arising  out  of  the  manners  and  out  of  the  situation. 
Twelfth  Night  presents  examples  of  the  same  or  a  similar 
type.  Shakespeare,  indeed,  has  so  plumbed  the  depths  of 
this  species  of  comedy  that  no  more  detailed  analysis  of  it 
need  here  be  given. 

Satire. — Finally,  we  come  to  that  even  less  amusing 
species  of  the  comic  spirit — satire.  Satire,  as  has  been 
pointed  out,  can  be  so  bitter  that  it  ceases  to  be  laughable 
in  the  very  least.  There  is  nothing  to  laugh  at  or  even 
to  smile  at  in  the  severity  of  Juvenal.  There  is  hardly  a 
laugh  in  the  whole  of  Volpone,  save  in  that  scene  where 
the  English  Lady  Politick  Would-be  enters  with  her 
affected  airs  and  her  vanity.  Satire  falls  heavily ;  it  has  no 
moral  sense  ;  it  has  no  pity  or  kindliness  or  magnanimity. 
It  lashes  the  physical  appearance  of  persons,  sometimes  with 
unmitigated  cruelty.  It  attacks  the  characters  of  men,  as 
in  The  Alchemist.  It  strikes  at  the  manners  of  the  age 
with  a  hand  that  spares  not.  Witness  the  follies  and  the 
vices  laid  bare  in  the  last-mentioned  play  of  Jonson's  ;  or 
glance  at  the  terrible  pages  of  Swift's  last  voyage  to  the 
country  of  the  Houhyhnmns.  It  continually  presents 
duplicity  and  vice,  and  delights  to  witness  that  dupli- 
city and  that  vice  overturned  in  the  end.  Mosca  and 
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COMEDY 

Volpone,  Corbaccio  and  the   rest,  are  sent  screeching  to 
their  doom. 

There  is  always  a  certain  vulgarity  in  true  satire  ;  and 
there  is  always  a  sense  that  the  poet  before  writing  has 
looked  into  his  own  heart.  He  is  horrified  at  the  vices  he 
sees  in  himself.  This  note  is  deeply  stressed  in  Jonson's 
plays  ;  it  is  apparent  in  Swift ;  and  it  occurs  in  a  very 
marked  form  in  Wycherley's  The  Plain  Dealer.  Most 
commonly,  satire  perceives  underneath  the  specious  disguise 
of  social  conventions  and  nominal  morality  the  native 
brutality  and  ignorance  of  mankind  ;  and  in  exposing  this 
brutality  and  this  ignorance  to  the  view  of  the  world  there 
is  a  special  coarseness  and  roughness  in  its  treatment.  This 
explains  the  hideousness  of  Wycherley's  play,  as  well  as  the 
awful  nature  of  Swift's  last  works.  Pure  comedy  largely 
grows  out  of  the  acceptance  of  social  conventions  and  the 
presentation  in  an  amusing  form  of  any  variations  from  the 
normal  custom.  Satire  lashes  the  customs  of  society  as 
well  as  the  eccentricities  of  individuals. 

In  this  rapid  glance  at  the  nature  of  comic  motives  as 
expressed  in  comedy  there  are  several  important  points 
which  have  become  apparent,  (i)  There  are  at  least  four 
main  types  of  comic  expression  used  by  the  dramatists ; 
the  unconsciously  ludicrous,  the  conscious  wit,  humour,  and 
satire.  (2)  These  may  be  mingled  all  together  in  one 
individual  comedy,  the  highest  forms  of  comedy  usually 
combining  at  least  two  or  three.  (3)  The  laughable  may, 
and  indeed  generally  does,  depend  not  on  one  source  of 
merriment,  but  on  several,  so  closely  intertwined  that  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  disentangle  them  and  to  analyse  them 
separately.  (4)  Comedy  does  not  necessarily  depend  upon 
laughter,  although  laughter  is  assuredly  its  most  common 
characteristic.  Both  in  humour  and  in  satire  the  purely 
risible  may  be  entirely,  or  almost  entirely,  absent. 

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INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

(iii)  TYPES  OF  COMEDY 

These  considerations  may  serve  us  toward  the  making 
of  a  rapid  analysis  of  the  separate  types  of  comedy.  These 
varying  types,  because  of  the  diverse  and  sharply  differ- 
entiated species  of  the  laughable,  are  much  more  clearly 
marked  than  the  corresponding  types  of  tragedy ;  but  it 
must  never  be  forgotten  that  they  may  and  generally  do 
fade  almost  imperceptibly  into  one  another.  In  general, 
there  are  five  main  types  of  comic  productivity  which  we 
may  broadly  classify.  Farce  stands  by  itself  as  marked 
out  by  certain  definite  characteristics.  The  comedy  of 
humours  is  the  second  of  decided  qualities.  Shakespeare's 
comedy  of  romance  is  the  third,  with  possibly  the  romantic 
tragi-comedy  of  his  later  years  as  a  separate  subdivision. 
The  comedy  of  intrigue  is  the  fourth.  The  comedy  of 
manners  is  the  fifth,  again  with  perhaps  a  subdivision  in  the 
genteel  comedy.  Finally,  outside  these,  and  to  be  con- 
sidered separately,  there  is  the  so-called  sentimental  comedy 
of  the  eighteenth  century. 

Farce. — Farce  we  have  already  considered  in  general ; 
and  we  have  found  that  its  main  characteristics  are  the 
dependence  in  it  of  character  and  of  dialogue  upon  mere 
situation.  This  situation,  moreover,  is  of  the  most  exag- 
gerated and  impossible  kind,  depending  not  on  clever  plot 
construction,  but  upon  the  coarsest  and  rudest  of  improbable 
incongruities.  Except  in  the  very  flimsiest  of  such  pieces, 
of  course,  it  is  rare  to  find  a  play  that  depends  upon  nothing 
but  farcical  elements ;  but  we  can  roughly  mark  the  pre- 
ponderance of  those  characteristics  in  the  dramas  presented 
before  us  under  this  title.  It  is  quite  evident  that  Farquhar 
and  Vanbrugh  are  more  farcical  than  Congreve  ;  that  The 
Taming  of  the  Shrew  and  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor 
are  more  farcical  than  Twelfth  Night.  In  these  plays 
176 


COMEDY 

character  is  deliberately  sacrificed  to  situation,  nearly  always 
of  a  rough-and-tumble  type.  Horseplay  rouses  our  laughter 
in  them  more  than  the  com'tque  de  caractere  or  the  comique 
de  mots.  The  situations  in  them  are  not  subtle.  There  is, 
for  example,  nothing  farcical  in  the  famous  screen-scene  of 
The  School  for  Scandal.  That  situation,  because  it  has  been 
cleverly  arranged,  and  because  it  is  interrelated  with  the 
characters  of  the  dramatis  persona,  is  eminently  and  purely 
comic  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word.  The  coarse  dis- 
coveries and  confusions,  on  the  other  hand,  of  any  of  the 
lower  and  minor  Restoration  comedies  are  as  genuinely 
farcical.  The  situations  here  have  usually  nothing  of 
poignancy  in  them  ;  the  amusement  that  is  extracted  from 
them  depends  not  upon  what  we  might  call  the  idea  of 
the  situation,  on  its  connexion  with  the  characters  and  with 
the  general  atmosphere  of  the  play,  but  upon  the  physical 
characteristics  of  the  situation  itself. 

The  Comedy  of  Romance  (Comedy  of  Humour). — 
Farce,  it  is  to  be  noted,  may  approximate  in  tone  to  any 
of  the  major  types  of  comedy,  or,  rather,  it  may  appear  as 
a  debased  form  of  any  of  those  types.  It  is  thus  distinct 
from  each  in  this  one  quality  of  exaggerated  situation,  while 
all  differ  from  it  in  an  insistence  upon  something  larger 
and  broader  than  mere  incident.  The  romantic  comedy  of 
Shakespeare,  among  the  higher  types,  may  here  be  con- 
sidered first.  In  this  term  '  romantic  comedy  '  are  included 
all  the  chief  comedies  of  Shakespeare  from  J  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream  to  Tivelfth  Night,^  the  last  three  tragi- 
comedies being  of  a  slightly  different  tone  and  atmosphere. 
What  do  we  find  as  the  characteristics  of  these  earlier 
dramas  of  Shakespeare  ?  First  of  all,  they  are  markedly 
separated  from  later  comedies  of  other  dramatists  in  their 

^  With  the  exception  of  Love's  Labour's  Lost,  Henry  I V,  The 
Taming  of  the  Shrew,  and  The  Merry  Wives. 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

scene.     Nearly  all  are  set  in  natural  surroundings — a  wood 
near  Athens  for  A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  a  sea-coast 
town  with   flowering  gardens  for  Twelfth  Night,  orchards 
and  their  surroundings  for  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  the 
Forest  of  Arden  for  As  You  Like  It.     There  is  not  a  hint 
in  them  of  those  localities  so  dear  to  the  later  comic  dramatists 
— '  Pall  Mall '  or  '  St  James's  Park.'     This  scene,  then,  is 
peculiar  in  that  it  is  of  nature  as  opposed  to  the  city,  and  in 
that  it  is  set,  not  in  the  surroundings  of  English  country  life, 
but  in  the  surroundings  of  a  country  life  in  some  land  remote 
in  distance  or  in  time.      Athens,  Illyria,  Messina,  and  France 
— these  carry  the  mind  beyond  even  the  ordinary  city  atmo- 
sphere of  the  theatre  to  a  different  age  and  to  a  different 
locality.      This  choice  of  district  and  of  country  was,  on 
Shakespeare's  part,  evidently  intentional ;  he  was  following, 
it  is  true,  the  example  of  the  romancers,  Greene  and  Lyly, 
but  a  theory  that  would  explain  those  scenes  by  mere  imita- 
tion cannot  be  pressed  too  far.      In  following  them  he  was 
perfectly  conscious  of  what  he  was  doing.      He  was  evi- 
dently striving  deliberately  to  conjure   up  an  atmosphere 
suitable  to  the  characters  and  to  the  emotions  of  his  plays. 
It  is  in  these  characters  that  there  appears  the  second  notice- 
able element  in  this  comedy  of  romance.     Whereas  some 
of  the  persons  have  a  slightly  more  romantic  colouring  than 
the  others,  the  majority  are  more  or  less  realistically  drawn, 
in  the  sense  that  they  reflect  the  manners  and  the  types  of 
Elizabethan    England.     Sir   Toby    Belch    is   no    more   an 
Illyrian  than   Bottom  is  a  citizen  of  Athens.      Abstractly 
considered,  such  a  sharp  divergence  between  scene  and  char- 
acter might  be  thought  fatal  to  the  production  of  any  homo- 
geneous work  of  art,  but  it  is  the  triumph  of  the  comedy  of 
romance  that  it  has  overcome  the  many  difficulties  in  its 
path.     The  main  methods  by  which  a  unified  effect  has 
been  secured  arc  the  general  subduing   of  high  tones,  the 
178 


COMEDY 

utilization  of  humour  rather  than  of  wit,  and  the  intro- 
duction thereby  of  feeling  and  of  emotion  into  the  body  of 
the  plays.  In  many  ways  it  would  be  more  correct  to  style 
this  drama  the  comedy  of  humour  ;  and  such  a  title  might 
have  been  given  to  it,  if  that  title  had  not  raised  a  confusion 
between  Shakespeare's  comedy  and  the  satiric  comedy  of 
Jonson,  to  the  latter  of  which,  rather  erroneously,  has  been 
given  the  name  of  the  comedy  of  'humours.'  Humour  it 
is  that  preponderates  in  the  earlier  comedies  of  Shakespeare. 
Had  wit  appeared  largely  in  these  dramas,  in  all  probability 
we  should  have  seen  markedly  the  discrepancy  between  the 
setting  and  the  persons.  Our  reasons  would  have  been 
constantly  appealed  to  ;  and,  as  a  consequence,  that  romantic 
atmosphere  of  emotion,  willing  to  be  deceived  and  not 
over-critical,  would  have  been  destroyed.  The  subdued 
tone  of  all  these  pieces,  going  along  with  this  prevalence  of 
humour,  is  very  noticeable.  There  is  a  continual  series  of 
half-lights,  never  brilliant  gleams  and  dark  shadows.  The 
comic  scenes  of  Twelfth  Night  may  become  rollicking  at 
times,  but  they  never  grow  so  pronounced  as  the  situations 
in  The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor.  There  is  everywhere  an 
evident  desire  on  Shakespeare's  part  to  keep  the  colouring 
soft  and  uncontrasted.  This  softening  process  is  marked 
in  a  multitude  of  ways.  The  wit  that  occasionally  appears 
in  the  mouth  of  a  character  such  as  Rosalind  is  mellowed 
and  chastened.  It  is  never  allowed  free  play  ;  if  it  begins 
to  become  scintillating  then  of  a  sudden  a  turn  is  made  and 
there  is  a  strong  appeal  to  the  feelings.  Rosalind,  moreover, 
is  not  a  pure  wit  herself.  Like  all  the  heroes  and  the 
heroines  of  these  comedies  she  is  emotional  rather  than 
intellectual.  Viola,  Olivia,  and  the  Duke  in  Tivelfth 
Night  are  thus  bound  together  in  a  circle  not  of  wit,  but  of 
love ;  so  even  Benedick  and  Beatrice,  who  crack  their 
jokes  about  marriage,  have  a  rich  substratum  of  emotion  in 

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INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

their  natures,  and  this  emotion  prevents  their  wit  developing 
along  alien  lines.  The  humour,  however,  is  the  surest 
medium  for  securing  a  spiiit  which  might  harmonize  scene 
and  character  ;  it  is  of  a  peculiarly  meditative,  fanciful,  and 
kindly  sort,  romantic  in  its  essence,  if  we  connote  by  romantic 
the  richer  glow  of  a  sentiment  that  is  half  poetical  and  half 
whimsical.  All  of  these  comedies  of  romance  are  full  of 
appeals  to  our  meditative  faculties  and  to  our  emotions. 
The  laughter  is  subdued  into  a  kind  of  feeling  of  content- 
ment, a  happiness  of  spirit  rather  than  an  ebullition  of  out- 
ward merriment.  Wherever  the  laughter  is  called  forth  it 
is  immediately  stilled  or  crushed  out  of  existence  by  some 
other  appeal. 

In  those  plays,  moreover,  the  laughter  is  softened  and 
chastened  by  an  element,  usually  carefully  subordinated  to 
the  main  plot,  of  evil  or  of  misfortune.  All  along  we  know 
that  this  evil  will  be  vanquished  and  that  the  misfortune  will 
be  put  aside  ;  but  it  is  ever  present  before  us  throughout 
the  greater  part  of  the  plot.  In  Js  Tou  Like  It  it  is  the 
banishment  of  a  duke  and  his  daughter  ;  in  j4  Midsummer 
Night's  Dream  it  is  the  hopeless  entangling  of  the  lovers' 
passions  and  the  threat  of  execution  that  hangs  over  one  of 
them  ;  in  Ttuelfth  Night  it  is  the  almost  fatal  neglect  of 
Viola  ;  in  Much  Ado  about  Nothing  it  is  the  casting  off  of 
Hero.  In  two  of  these  plays  the  evil  and  the  misfortune 
are  softened  by  the  gaiety  of  spirit  on  the  part  of  those 
ill-fated — Rosalind's  happiness  and  Viola's  cheerfulness. 
In  the  other  two  it  is  softened  by  the  mirth  of  certain 
characters  connected  with,  but  standing  apart  from,  the 
characters  who  appear  to  be  in  painful  circumstances — by 
the  mirth  of  Puck  and  of  Bottom,  of  Benedick  and  Beatrice 
and  Dogberry.  It  is  here  that  there  arises  a  distinction 
between  the  two  types  within  this  romantic  species.  We 
should  not  dream  of  calling  Js  Tou  Like  It  a  tragi-comedy, 
i8o 


COMEDY 

but  there  has  been  considerable  doubt  in  the  nomenclature 
of  Cymbeline,  The  Winter  s  Tale,  and  The  Tempest.  In  these 
plays  of  Shakespeare's  last  years,  closely  connected  in  their 
spirit  with  the  cognate  dramas  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
the  romantic  element  is  still  more  deeply  stressed.  The 
scene  is  carried  even  farther  than  France  and  Athens  and 
Illyria.  It  is  ancient  Britain,  or  Bohemia,  or  an  island  in 
the  "  Bermoothes."  At  the  same  time,  the  incidents  are 
made  still  more  improbable  and  '  romantic  '  to  accord  with 
the  highly  improbable  nature  of  the  setting.  In  Cymheline 
there  is  the  almost  impossible  chamber  scene  and  the  later 
wanderings  of  the  heroine ;  in  The  Winter's  Tale  there  is  the 
sixteen  years'  concealment  of  Hermione  ;  in  The  Tempest 
there  is  the  atmosphere  of  magic.  This  endeavour  thus 
to  intensify  the  improbable  and  romantic  notes  is  again 
evidently  deliberate.  It  represents  partly  the  exaggeration 
of  the  perfectly  natural  comedy  of  romance  of  Shakespeare's 
earlier  years,  partly  an  adaptation  of  that  comedy  of  romance 
to  the  newer  spirit  of  the  early  seventeenth  century.  The 
comedy  of  romance  was  an  approximation  or  a  balance 
between  idealism  and  reality  ;  in  the  later  romantic  comedy 
there  is  a  loss  of  the  reality  altogether  in  scene  and  in  situa- 
tion, and  partly  in  character.  To  harmonize  with  this, 
moreover,  the  tragic  or  the  serious  element,  which  had 
already  appeared  in  the  earlier  plays  but  always  in  a  sub- 
ordinate position,  is  in  those  later  dramas  deeply  stressed, 
so  that  the  works  cease  to  be  comedies  at  all,  taking  on 
instead  the  characteristics  of  a  decidedly  mixed  species. 
Thus,  Cymheline  was  set  by  the  Folio  editors  as  a  tragedy; 
The  Winter's  Tale  hovers  on  the  brink  of  the  unhappy  ; 
and  the  theme  of  The  Tempest  is  a  banished  duke,  involv- 
ing scenes  of  serious  and  almost  tragic  sentiments.  This 
heightened  romantic  note  and  increased  tragic  element  mark 
out  the  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  and  the  later  Shakespearian 

i8i 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

romantic  plays  from  the  earlier  Elizabethan  group.  There 
is  also  in  the  later  type  an  added  element  of  intrigue.  The 
intrigue  in  the  earlier  plays  was  complicated,  but  in  the  later 
it  is  carried  to  lengths  which  are  to  be  discovered  among  the 
former  dramas  only  in  isolated  scenes.  It  is  made  more 
involved  and  takes  on  forms  of  evil  lacking  in  the  earlier  type. 
The  conspiracies  of  lachimo  and  of  Sebastian  are  quite  apart 
in  spirit  from  the  complications  in  A  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream.  Obviously  the  two  groups  run  together,  a  play  like 
Much  Ado  about  Nothing  standing  between  the  one  and  the 
other  in  this  respect;  but  in  general  they  are  sharply  enough 
distinguished,  and,  while  deserving  treatment  together,  must 
be  regarded  as  quite' separate  sub-species  of  the  one  type. 

The  Comedy  of  'Humours'  (Comedy  of  Satire). — 
Openly  opposed  to  this  general  romantic  species  stands  the 
so-called  comedy  of  '  humours.'  This  class  of  comedy,  which 
deals  largely  with  exaggerated  types  or  '  humours,'  is  one 
which,  adumbrated  in  the  classical  comedy,  was  revived  in 
England  in  Gammer  Gurtori's  Needle  and  in  Ralph  Roister 
Doister,  and  then,  after  a  not  very  glorious  career,  was 
rendered  popular  by  Jonson  in  Every  Mati  in  his  Humour. 
Of  all  the  types  of  comedy  this  perhaps  is  one  of  the  most 
confusing  for  critical  analysis,  mainly  owing  to  the  fact 
that  all  comedy,  be  it  of  '  humours '  or  of  romance  or  of 
manners,  deals  with  types  of  character  rather  than  with 
personalities,  and  therefore  employs  what  are,  to  all  intents 
and  purposes,  the  '  humours '  which  are  often  assumed  to  be 
the  sole  property  of  Ben  Jonson.  This  being  so,  it  may 
be  inquired  what  precisely  are  those  elements  which  parti- 
cularly distinguish  this  type  from  others  wherein  the  types 
of  characters  are  likewise  heavily  marked.  In  the  comedy 
of  '  humours,'  of  course,  the  types  are  possibly  more  exag- 
gerated than,  for  example,  in  the  Shakespearian  type  of 
early  romantic  comedy.  The  fact  that  they  are  types  is 
182 


COMEDY 

for  ever  being  obtruded  upon  our  notice,  whereas,  in  the 
Shakespearian  comedy,  there  is  rather  an  attempt  to  conceal 
the  presence  of  the  types  under  a  semblance  of  personality. 
On  the  other  hand,  none  of  the  persons  of  Jonson's  comedy 
is  any  more  a  type  than  is  Leontes  in  The  Winter's  Tale, 
and  pronounced  'humours'  appear  frequently  in  the  purest 
of  the  comedies  of  manners.  Here,  then,  is  not  the  prime 
distinguishing  characteristic  of  the  Jonsonian  drama  ;  the 
title  which  has  been  given  to  this  drama  is  seen  not  to  be 
fully  j  usti  fied.  Only  one  claim  can  be  made  for  its  accuracy. 
In  the  comedy  of  romance  as  in  the  comedy  of  manners 
there  are  nearly  always  one  or  two  characters  of  an  ordinary 
intelligent  kind,  not  marked  by  any  particular  folly  or  vice ; 
there  is  in  the  comedy  of  '  humours '  a  tendency  to  make 
every  one  of  the  characters  an  eccentric  of  some  kind  or 
another.  This  tendency,  however,  again  is  seen  not  to  be 
wholly  universal.  Every  Man  in  his  Humour  has  a  fairly 
normal  central  figure  in  Young  Knowell,  and  Shadwell's 
plays,  deliberately  modelled  on  the  comedies  of  Jonson,  possess 
always  a  couple  or  a  quartette  of  ordinary  dramatis  persona 
around  whom  move  the  more  purely  humorous  figures. 

The  qualities  which  distinguish  the  Jonsonian  type  of 
comedy  must,  therefore,  be  sought  for  in  aspects  apart  from 
the  '  humours  '  themselves.  These  qualities  are,  in  truth, 
not  hard  to  discover.  The  Jonsonian  comedy,  in  the  first 
place,  is  marked  off  from  the  romantic  drama  by  its  intense 
realism.  It  was  Jonson's  boast  and  virtue  that  he  drew 
comedy  down  from  the  improbable  realms  of  romantic 
colouring  to  the  levels  of  ordinary  existence,  where  he  could 
utilize 

Deeds  and  language,  such  as  men  do  use, 
And  persons,  such  as  comedy  would  choose, 
When  she  would  show  an  image  of  the  times, 
And  sport  with  human  follies,  not  with  crimes. 

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INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Jonson's  great  merit  lies  in  the  fact,  not  that  he  popularized 
the  ancient  comedy  of  '  humours,'  not  that  he  infused  into 
English  literature  the  spirit  of  Terence  and  of  Plautus,  or 
that  he  used  Terence  as  an  inspiration  for  increased  dramatic 
effect,  but  that  he  drew  comedy  down  to  real  life,  presenting 
the  classes  and  the  follies  of  contemporary  London  at  a  time 
when  there  was  a  fear  of  comedy's  vanishing  altogether  into 
those  fantastic  and  impossible  realms  of  make-believe  which 
had  been  popularized  by  Shakespeare  and  by  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher.  All  of  Shakespeare's  dramas,  except  Lovers 
Labour  s  Lost,  The  Taming  of  the  Shrew,  and  the  comic 
scenes  of  the  first  part  of  Henry  IF,  had  dealt  either  with 
crude  absurdity  of  accident,  or  with  the  humorous  that  arises 
out  of  natural  ignorance,  all  coloured  with  his  rich  romantic 
imagination.  The  Merry  Wives  is  farcical  as  is  The 
Taming  of  the  Shrezv,  and  the  Falstaff  scenes  of  Henry  IF 
not  only  depend  largely  upon  humour  for  their  effect  but 
merely  form  part  of  a  larger  history.  Lovers  Labours  Lost 
has  a  fanciful  theme  with  nothing  in  it  reminiscent  of 
Jonson's  style.  Realism,  added  to  intensified  'humours' 
treated  in  a  satirical  spirit,  was  first  given  to  the  theatrical 
world  by  Jonson.  Here,  possibly,  a  remark  might  be  made 
concerning  Jonson's  matter.  He  has  been  called  by  several 
critics  the  founder  of  the  comedy  of  manners  ;  it  has  been 
said  that  he  dealt  with  the  manners  of  mankind,  and  so 
stands  as  the  ancestor  of  the  Restoration  comedy.  Such 
statements,  however,  go  far  toward  confusing  the  issue, 
on  the  one  hand,  between  Jonson  and  Shakespeare,  and,  on 
the  other,  between  Jonson  and  Congreve.  Jonson,  in 
point  of  fact,  deals  hardly  at  all  with  manners  as  such  :  he 
is  not  concerned  with  the  social  affectations  of  the  world,  but 
with  the  follies  of  particular  men  or  of  particular  groups  of 
men.  The  comic  of  Every  Man  in  his  Humour  rises  out 
of  the  follies  of  Bobadill,  of  Matthew,  of  Cob,  of  Clement, 
184 


COMEDY 

not  out  of  the  manners  of  their  class.  All  the  '  humours  ' 
of  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour  are  based  on  genuine 
traits  of  character,  not  on  the  customs  and  the  ways  of 
mankind.  So  in  The  Alchemist  it  is  the  gullibility  of  fools 
and  the  cunning  of  sharpers  that  is  presented  :  in  Volpone  it  is 
the  natural  greed  of  all  types  of  men.  So  far,  indeed,  is 
Jonson  from  being  the  founder  of  the  comedy  of  manners 
that  it  might  almost  be  averred  that  his  species  of  comedy 
is  distinguished  from  several  other  types  by  the  fact  that  it 
puts  its  stress  not  on  manners,  but  on  natural  idiosyncrasies. 
It  is  this  fact  that  he  does  not  reproduce  the  manners  of 
the  age  that  marks  off  Shadwell,  the  literary  descendant  of 
Jonson,  as  being  a  writer,  not  only  of  an  inferior  genius, 
but  of  a  class  different  from  that  of  Etherege.  In  only  two 
things  does  Jonson  stand  connected  with  the  later  comedy 
of  manners — in  his  realism  and  in  his  satire  ;  and  we  shall 
find  that  the  realism  and  the  satire  of  Jonson  are  definitely 
separated  at  many  points  from  the  similar  qualities  that 
occasionally  appear  in  the  Restoration  dramas. 

The  comedy  of '  humours,'  be  it  noted,  habitually  disregards 
humour  ;  it  depends  occasionally  on  wit,  but  more  generally 
on  satire.  The  exaggeration  of  the  types  gives  ample  oppor- 
tunity for  the  introduction  of  this  last  comic  method — 
indeed,  in  itself  it  is  partly  a  manifestation  of  satirical  creative- 
ness.  This  distinction  between  the  plays  of  Shakespeare 
and  the  plays  of  Jonson  is  clearly  to  be  seen  when  we  glance 
at  the  development  of  the  dramatic  productivity  of  each 
Humour,  as  it  advances,  tends  to  become  more  mellow, 
moving  either  toward  increased  kindliness  or  toward  ex- 
cessive meditation  of  a  highly  contemplative  kind  ;  satire, 
on  the  other  hand,  tends  to  grow  more  bitter  and  more 
severe.  Humour  may  end  in  melancholy ;  satire  nearly 
always  ends  in  pessimism.  Whereas  in  Shakespeare's  work 
we  see  a  continued  kindliness  and,  at  the  close  of  his  life, 

185 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

a  melancholy  contemplation  of  the  shadows  and  of  the  shows 
of  life,  in  Jonson  we  tind  a  regular  progression  from  the 
comparatively  genial  atmosphere  of  Every  Man  in  his  Humour 
to  the  bitterness  and  the  unconcealed  contempt  of  Volpone. 
As  is  evident,  this  lack  of  humour  in  the  so-called  comedy  of 
'  humours '  marks  one  of  the  many  anomalies  in  our  literary 
nomenclature,  due  obviously  to  the  rapid  alteration  in  the 
significance  of  the  terms  employed  by  critical  writers.  It 
would  be  much  safer  to  style  Jonson's  comedy  the  comedy  of 
realism  or  the  comedy  of  satire,  differentiating  it  thus  from 
the  romantic  comedy  with  its  atmosphere  of  humour  and 
from  the  later  comedy  of  manners. 

The  Comedy  of  Manners  (Comedy  of  Wit). — The 
comedy  of  manners  is,  as  its  name  suggests,  an  entirely 
different  species  from  the  comedy  of  Jonson.  There  may 
be  '  humours  '  in  the  plays  of  Etherege,  Congreve,  Farquhar, 
and  Vanbrugh,  but  those  'humours'  are  not  stressed  to  the 
same  extent  as  they  are  in  Jonson's  work ;  and  there  is,  more- 
over, a  marked  change  in  their  conception.  In  Jonson, 
as  we  have  seen,  the  '  humours  '  are  exaggerated  traits  of 
character.  The  very  names  of  his  dramatis  persona  dis- 
play this.  Deliro,  Sordido,  Fungoso,  Shift,  in  Every  Man 
out  of  his  Humour ;  Volpone,  Corbaccio,  in  The  Fox — 
these  show  the  tendency  of  his  creative  activity.  In  the 
comedy  of  manners,  on  the  other  hand,  the  '  humours  '  are 
rarely  such  traits  of  character  exaggerated.  The '  humours,' 
if  we  retain  the  old  term,  are  derived  from  the  conven- 
tions, follies,  and  usages  of  social  life.  Novel  and  Lord 
Plausible  in  The  Plain  Dealer;  Lord  Froth  and  Sir  Paul 
Plyant  in  The  Double  Dealer  ;  Witwoud  and  Petulant  in 
The  Way  of  the  World;  the  Sir  Harry  Wildairs  and  the 
Lady  Betty  Modishcs  of  the  eighteenth  century — all  of  these 
are  figures  who  take  their  humorous  complexion  from  the 
social  follies  of  their  day,  not  from  the  innate  follies  of 
1 86 


COMEDY 

mankind.  Greed  is  not  much  represented  in  the  comedy 
of  manners,  but  it  is  in  Jonson's  plays,  precisely  because  greed 
is  a  trait  of  character,  not  a  quality  derived  from  social 
custom. 

The  title  given  to  this  type  of  drama — the  comedy  of 
manners — is,  of  course,  derived  ultimately  from  the  manners, 
the  social  follies  and  conventions,  presented  in  the  plays 
of  the  time ;  but  the  word  manners  itself  has  a  deeper, 
and  for  our  purpose  a  more  illuminating  significance,  a 
significance  which  may  serve  us  toward  a  closer  analysis  of 
the  characteristics  of  this  species.  In  the  second  act  of 
The  Double  Dealer  Lady  Froth  is  conversing  with  Cynthia. 
"  I  vow  Mellefont's  a  pretty  gentleman,"  she  says,  "  but 
methinks  he  wants  a  manner."  "  A  manner  !  "  exclaims 
Cynthia.  "  What's  that,  madam  ? "  To  which  Lady 
Froth's  answer  is  instructive.  "  Some  distinguishing  quality," 
she  replies,  "  as,  for  example,  the  bel  air  or  brilliant  of 
Mr  Brisk  ;  the  solemnity,  yet  complaisance  of  my  lord, 
or  something  of  his  own  that  should  look  a  little  jene-scay- 
quoyshy  This  quotation  shows  to  us  that  we  hare  something 
more  in  the  term  '  comedy  of  manners  '  than  at  first  sight 
meets  the  eye.  Manners  may  mean  simply  the  ways  of 
men,  in  which  case  it  will  apply  to  the  Jonsonian  comedy 
as  to  this  of  the  Restoration.  It  may  mean  the  conventions 
of  an  artificial  society  ;  and  it  may  mean  something  brilliant 
about  men  and  women,  not  a  '  humour  '  derived  from  natural 
idiosyncrasy  but  a  grace  or  a  habit  of  refined  culture,  some- 
thing that  looks  "  a  little  jene-scay-quoysh.''''  In  these  last 
two  senses  it  is  to  be  applied  only  to  the  comedy  of  Etherege 
and  of  Congreve. 

The  matter  and  the  characters,  therefore,  of  the  Restora- 
tion plays  differ  markedly  from  the  matter  and  the  characters 
of  the  comedy  of  Jonson.  In  scene,  however,  both  are 
alike.     Not  a  single  one  of  the  true  Restoration  comedies 

187 


INTRODUCTION  I'O   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

of  manners  is  set  out  of  the  bounds  of  London.     Sedley 
mixes  fanciful  with  real  names  in  his  Bellamira^  and  seems 
in  so  doing  to  spoil  his  play,  but  the  finer  dramatists  of  the 
time  were  careful   to  avoid  any  such   admixture.     They 
clung  firmly  to  the  circle  of  London  society.     As  soon  as 
the  comedy  of  manners  passed  out  of  the  town  into  the 
country,  as  it  did  in  Farquhar's  The  Recruiting  Officer,  it 
was  doomed  to  perish.      It  never  could  have  travelled  to 
the  mythical  lands  of  the  Shakespearian  Thalia ;    it  would 
have  withered  there,  as  a  hot-house  plant  in  a  freer  atmo- 
sphere.     In  places,  too,  the  Restoration  comedy  shared  the 
spirit   of  Jonson,    but,    in    sharing    that   spirit,   altered    it. 
Jonson's  dramas,  as  we  have  seen,  had  been  built  on  satire, 
which  is  an  integral  part  of  the  comedy  of  manners.     This 
satire,  however,  in  its  reappearance  was   totally   changed. 
It  was  no  longer  the  satire  of  the  self-opinionated  and  slightly 
pessimistic  individual  as  with  Jonson,  but  the  gentle  satire 
of  the  fine  world  at  the  follies  of  those  who  strove  to  enter 
into    its   elegant   circle.      It   directed    its   laughter   at    the 
hangers-on,  at  the  fops,  and  at  the  would-be  wits,  at  the 
coxcombs  and  at  the  pedantries  of  the  virtuosi.     Except 
in  "  manly  Wycherley,"  who  "  lashed  the  crying  age,"  it 
never  grew  bitter,  never  passed  beyond  a  kind  of  fastidious 
contempt.     The  comedy  of  manners,   moreover,  did  not 
confine  itself  to  satire  ;    it  utilized  far  more  what  Jonson 
barely  knew — the  power  of  wit.     Jonson's  is  the  satire  of 
exaggeration  ;  he  attains  his  effect  not  by  means  of  a  fruitful 
fancy,  but  by  means  of  crude  and  heavy  blows.     The  comedy 
of  manners  neglected  all  that.      It  was  airy  and  delicate  ; 
and  accordingly  preferred  to  satirize  by  utilizing  that  species 
of  esprit  which  depended  fundamentally  upon  the   incon- 
gruity between  two  ideas  or  between  an  idea  and  an  object. 
Its  method   is  entirely  different  from  the  method  of  the 
Elizabethan    writer  -,     as    different,    indeed,    as    that   latter 
i88 


COMEDY 

method  is  from  the  genial,  kindly,  and  meditative  humour 
of  Shakespeare. 

In  discussing  the  comedy  of  manners,  it  is  almost  in- 
evitable that  there  should  arise  the  question  of  morality. 
The  typical  plays  of  the  comedy  of  manners  produced  during 
the  time  of  the  Restoration  are  so  full  of  indecencies  of 
word  and  thought  and  situation  that  this  problem  must  be 
ever  present  before  us.  Already  some  few  words  have  been 
said  on  the  subject,  and  little  more  need  be  done  here  than 
to  point  out  that  these  comedies,  written  in  the  age  of  the 
Restoration,  could  not  fail  to  be  indecent  to  modern  eyes. 
It  is  by  no  means  the  comedy  of  manners  that  has  a  monopoly 
of  immorality  at  that  time.  All  the  types  of  comedy  pro- 
duced between  1660  and  1700  are  stained  by  the  brush  of 
the  evil  of  their  time.  Indeed,  it  may  be  said  categorically 
that  there  are  far  worse  elements  to  be  found  in  the  lesser- 
known  non-manners  dramas  of  that  period  than  there  are 
in  the  more  accessible  plays  of  Etherege  and  of  Congreve, 
It  is  certainly  noticeable  that  a  man  like  Shadwell,  in  The 
Squire  of  Alsatia,  where  he  deliberately  adopts  the  Jonsonian 
style,  is  inexpressibly  vulgar,  while  in  Bury  Fair,  where  he 
has  been  undoubtedly  influenced  by  the  plays  of  Etherege, 
he  is  comparatively  pure  and  modest,  even  if  judged  by 
modern  standards  of  taste. 

Before  passing  judgment  on  this  comedy  of  manners 
for  its  moral  delinquencies,  there  are  several  things  which 
must  be  borne  in  mind.  First  of  all,  the  comedy  of  manners 
is  essentially  intellectual ;  it  permits  of  the  introduction  and 
expression  of  practically  no  emotion  whatsoever.  It  there- 
fore does  not  play  upon  our  feelings  in  any  way,  but  appeals 
primarily  and  always  to  our  reason.  Its  wit  is  purely 
intellectual ;  and  the  appreciation  of  it  comes  from  our 
minds,  not  from  our  hearts.  This  intellectual  quality  in 
the  works  of  Etherege  and  of  Congreve  undoubtedly  renders 

189 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

their  indecencies  and  their  vulgarities  comparatively  harm- 
less. The  truly  immoral  book  is  that  which  plays  upon 
our  emotions  and  leaves  the  reason  severely  alone.  The 
indecencies  in  the  Restoration  drama  rarely,  if  ever,  are 
introduced  except  for  the  purpose  of  raising  a  laugh  from 
the  wit  with  which  they  are  presented.  There  is  here  a 
genuine  insensibility  demanded  from  the  audience,  and  that 
insensibility  dulls  and  renders  innocuous  what  might  other- 
wise have  been  of  evil  effect. 

The  comedy  of  manners,  moreover,  has  stressed  deeply 
that  tendency  in  all  high  comedy — the  artificiality  of  person- 
ality and  of  theme.  This  comedy  is  realistic,  but  not  in 
the  way  that  Jonson's  plays  were  realistic.  In  his  works 
there  is  a  decided  attempt  to  display  through  the  '  humours ' 
or  through  the  types  traits  of  contemporary  life  ;  there  is 
a  mass  of  topical  allusion,  and  the  subjects  are  often  taken 
from  real  aspects  of  his  time.  The  comedy  of  manners 
also  reflects  real  life,  but  it  is  a  real  life  artificialized,  and, 
still  further,  it  is  the  airier,  what  we  might  almost  call  the 
more  spiritual,  parts  of  real  life.  It  is  this  fact  which  Lamb 
seized  upon  in  his  essay  on  "  The  Artificial  Comedy."  This 
essay  is  exaggerated,  and  therefore  loses  some  of  its  effect ; 
but  it  has  captured  the  truth  concerning  this  particular 
species  of  dramatic  effort.  There  is  an  incessant  attempt 
on  the  part  of  Etherege  and  of  Congreve  to  delineate  the 
more  refined  aspects  of  their  time — the  gaiety,  the  wit, 
the  delicacy  of  the  age.  There  is,  too,  the  attempt  to 
artificialize  the  manners  presented,  or  else  to  present  them 
in  their  most  ethcrealized  forms.  While  we  may  say,  then, 
that  this  drama  is  realistic  in  that  it  presents  a  picture  of 
contemporary  life  in  definitely  metropolitan  surroundings, 
we  must  qualify  that  statement  by  declaring  that  it  presents 
a  picture  only  of  certain  aspects  of  that  contemporary  life, 
and  that  it  treats  those  aspects  in  a  peculiar  way  of  its  own. 
190 


COMEDY 

There  is,  finally,  another  consideration.  Comedy,  as  we 
have  already  seen,  is  largely  the  laughter  of  society  at  certain 
abnormalities  or  eccentricities.  The  society  of  the  Restora- 
tion was  a  peculiarly  constituted  society  unlike  that  either 
of  our  own  time  or  of  the  age  of  Elizabeth.  What  it 
regarded  as  an  eccentricity,  therefore,  might  not  by  any 
means  correspond  to  our  idea  of  such.  If  we  are  to  regard 
this  comedy  aright  we  must  as  far  as  possible  put  ourselves 
back  in  the  position  of  the  upper-class  life  of  the  late  seven- 
teenth century.  We  must  endeavour  to  secure  the  true 
historical  point  of  view.  We  must  recognize  that  for  this 
age  and  particularly  for  this  society  such  a  figure  as  a 
jealous  husband  was  truly  comic,  because  abnormal  and 
eccentric.  The  jealous  husband,  therefore,  could  be  pre- 
sented only  as  a  theme  of  comic  merriment ;  the  deceiving 
of  him  could  be  introduced  only  as  a  jest.  What  for  us 
might  be  a  pitiful  subject,  or  even  a  terrible  subject,  could  be 
then  only  a  source,  and  a  genuine  source,  of  laughter. 

While,  accordingly,  we  cannot  deny  that  there  are  for 
us  to-day  many  passages  in  the  works  of  Etherege  and  of 
Congreve  which  must  appear  as  vulgar  and  indecent,  it 
behoves  us  to  try  honestly  to  recapture  the  spirit  of  that 
comedy,  and,  further,  to  relate  the  laughable  in  that  comedy 
to  the  manifestations  of  the  comic  in  other  times  and  places. 

The  Genteel  Comedy. — The  comedy  of  manners  as 
such,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  was  killed  in  the  early 
eighteenth  century  by  the  passing  away  of  the  particular 
society  which  had  given  it  birth.  Congreve,  its  high  priest, 
was  truly  born  twenty  years  out  of  his  due  time.  The 
comedy  of  manners,  certainly,  endured  still  in  an  altered 
form.  In  its  original  shape  it  was  killed  by  the  inrush  of 
sentimentalism,  but  it  continued  in  the  guise  of  what  was 
styled  in  the  eighteenth  century  as  genteel  comedy.  This 
genteel  comedy  is  the  comedy  of  manners  adapted  to  the 

191 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

less  natural  society  of  the  century  that  followed  that  of 
Charles  II.  The  term  was  first  used,  apparently,  by 
Addison  in  the  very  years  that  saw  the  development  of  the 
type,  but  it  is  explained  nowhere  more  clearly  than  in  the 
anonymous  introduction  to  the  third  volume  of  The  Modem 
British  Drama  (i8ii).  The  Careless  Husband  of  Gibber 
is  there  described  as  "  the  first  genteel  comedy  upon  the 
English  stage,  and  the  precursor  of  a  numerous  class  of  plays, 
which  did  not,  as  formerly,  represent  the  operation  of  one 
single  passion  rushing  with  impetuosity  to  the  accomplish- 
ment of  its  desires.  It  is  not  the  natural,  but  the  artificial 
state  of  man,  which  this  species  of  drama  presents  ;  exhibit- 
ing characters  not  acting  under  the  predominance  of  natural 
feeling,  but  warped  from  their  genuine  bent  by  the  habits, 
rules,  and  ceremonies  of  high  life."  There  is  here,  of  course, 
a  certain  misapprehension,  probably  due  ultimately  to 
Addison,  but  the  characteristics  thus  diagnosed  are  the 
genuine  characteristics  of  the  genteel  comedy.  The  age  of 
Anne  and  the  later  age  of  the  mid-eighteenth  century  were 
both  sentimental  and  less  natural  than  the  age  of  Charles. 
They  were  still  prevailingly  intellectual,  but  the  vast  changes 
which  had  taken  place  in  the  years  following  the  Revolution 
of  1688  had  left  their  marks  on  society  and  on  the  theatre. 
The  age,  too,  was  more  effeminate  than  it  had  been  before. 
Affectations  ruled  the  life  of  the  upper-class  society,  and  it  is 
these  affectations  that  are  reproduced  in  the  pages  of  the 
genteel  comedy.  All  that  was  virile  in  the  earlier  drama 
was  lost,  and,  if  the  Restoration  plays  presented  a  more 
artificial  state  of  society  than  had  appeared  in  the  plays  of 
Jonson,  this  was  as  much  more  artificial  than  the  comedies 
of  Etherege  and  of  Congreve.  In  the  genteel  comedy  most 
of  the  indecencies  which  had,  in  the  eyes  of  the  moral  critics, 
marred  the  earlier  dramas  were  abandoned.  Intrigue  there 
is  in  plenty,  but  it  is  intrigue  that  is  shrouded  in  the  midst 
192 


COMEDY 

of  the  artificial,  and,  moreover,  it  is  intrigue  that  is  often 
highly  sentimentalized.  By  the  writer  of  the  preface  in 
The  Modern  British  Drama  Hoadly's  The  Suspicious 
Husband  is  singled  out  as  a  prime  example  of  the  later 
genteel  comedy,  and  in  that  drama  we  find,  in  spite  of  the 
licence  of  the  drinking  and  love-making  scenes,  a  rich  air 
of  the  sentimental.  The  coarser  manners  are  toned  down 
to  an  atmosphere  of  decorum,  and  if  there  may  appear  to 
our  eyes  a  more  vicious  atmosphere  in  the  hypocrisy  of 
certain  situations  the  cruder  elements  of  licence  have  been 
cut  away  and  their  place  taken  by  a  strictly  becoming  spirit. 

In  this  genteel  comedy,  however,  there  is  something 
more  than  mere  '  moral '  tone  that  separates  it  from  the 
earlier  type  of  comic  productivity.  The  wit  which  had 
distinguished  the  plays  of  Congreve  has  been  in  it  largely 
lost.  The  laughter  arises  not  out  of  the  playful  fancies  of 
brilliant  and  highly  intellectual  men,  but  out  of  the  affecta- 
tions of  this  mannerized  society.  Lady  Betty  Modish  and 
her  gallants  are  not  truly  clever ;  they  have  wit  of  a  kind, 
but  they  are  laughable  not  so  much  by  reason  of  their  skill 
in  repartee  as  by  reason  of  their  fine  airs  and  their  highly 
artificial  mode  of  life.  The  heroes  of  the  earlier  comedy  of 
manners  are  usually  ordinary  men — Careless  and  Courtine 
and  Beaugard — who  laughed  at  the  follies  of  too  refined 
affectation  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  awkward  ignorance  on 
the  other.  Here  the  follies  have  become  the  central  part 
of  the  picture,  and  the  ordinary  men  have  vanished. 

The  Comedy  of  Intrigue. — Apart  from  the  comedy  of 
manners  and  its  descendant,  the  genteel  comedy,  there  is 
one  type  of  comedy  which  has  preserved  an  almost  perennial 
existence  during  the  whole  period  from  its  inception  in  the 
days  of  Fletcher  to  the  end  of  the  eighteenth  century.  This 
type  is  the  comedy  of  intrigue.  It  is  rarely  perhaps  that  we 
find  a  genuine  and  pure  comedy  of  this  class  ;   but  there  are 

N  193 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

innumerable  plays  which  have  a  preponderance  of  the 
intrigue  element,  so  that  the  type  may  be  considered  as  an 
entity  in  itself.  In  this  species  of  comedy,  as  the  name 
implies,  the  laughter  arises  solely  or  largely  out  of  the  dis- 
guises and  the  intrigues  and  the  complications  of  the  plot. 
In  some  of  the  comedies  of  Fletcher,  in  those  of  Mrs  Behn, 
and  in  those  of  Mrs  Centlivre,  the  whole  interest  lies  in  the 
skilful  manipulation  of  a  series  of  situations  delicately  con- 
ceived and  leading  to  innumerable  mistakes  and  amusing 
denouements.  In  general,  this  comedy  stands  far  below  those 
types  we  have  been  considering,  being  in  its  nature  closely 
allied  to  farce.  It  differs  from  farce,  however,  in  that  it 
does  not  necessarily  or  even  usually  employ  horseplay  or 
rough  incident  in  its  development.  Very  often  the  com- 
plications of  the  comedy  of  intrigue  lead  to  nothing  but 
merely  laughable  situations,  laughable  because  of  the  intel- 
lectual incongruity  they  present.  There  can  be  little  wit 
in  this  type  of  drama,  practically  no  humour,  and  not  a  scrap 
of  satire,  but  there  is  the  genuine  comedy  of  situation  highly 
and,  in  the  best  of  the  species,  interestingly  developed.  This 
comedy  of  situation,  as  we  have  seen,  has  a  distinct  value  of 
its  own,  and  must  be  accorded  an  honourable  place  in  the 
methods  at  the  disposal  of  the  comic  dramatist.  The  danger 
in  it  lies  in  the  fact  that  it  becomes,  in  an  exaggerated  form, 
a  trifle  monotonous  and  gradually  palls  on  the  senses  and  on 
the  intellect.  It  has  also  the  disadvantage  that,  the  novelty 
of  the  plot-development  worn  off,  it  often  ceases  to  have  any 
great  value  or  interest  for  us.  On  the  other  hand,  the  comedy 
of  intrigue  is  more  universal  than  many  of  the  other  types. 
The  intrigue  that  it  presents  is  independent  of  time  and  of 
place  ;  it  exists  in  a  world  of  its  own.  It  does  not  paint  the 
manners  of  a  particular  time  ;  its  theme  is  the  sportive 
merriment  of  mankind.  In  studying  it  we  have  therefore 
to  beware  of  falling  into  one  of  two  extremes.  We  have  to 
194 


COMEDY 

guard  against  condemnation  because  of  the  purely  external 
nature  of  the  interest,  and  we  have  to  guard  against 
excessive  praise  because  of  the  skill  with  which  many  of 
these  comedies  are  developed.  The  comedy  of  intrigue 
stands  at  the  opposite  pole  of  dramatic  invention  from  such  a 
play  as  The  Way  of  the  World.  The  one  dwells  entirely 
on  external  sources  of  laughter  ;  the  other  is  based  solely  on 
intellectual  mirth.  In  the  highest  type  of  comedy,  that 
which  is  most  successful  on  the  stage  as  in  the  study,  we  shall 
find  in  general  a  union  of  these  two. 

Sentimental  Comedy. — Finally,  among  the  types  of 
comic  drama,  there  is  that  to  which  has  been  given  the  name 
of  the  comedy  of  sentiment.  This  type  found  its  chief 
sphere  of  activity  in  the  early  and  middle  years  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  although  it  was  inaugurated  in  the 
later  decades  of  the  previous  century.  An  even  more 
careful  analysis  is  required  of  it  than  was  demanded  in  the 
case  of  the  other  species  already  dealt  with.  In  nearly  all 
the  sentimental  comedies  which  we  possess  there  are  to  be 
discovered  one  or  two  facts  which  must  always  be  borne  in 
mind  by  anyone  who  would  study  the  development  of  the 
type  and  analyse  its  characteristics.  In  some  comedies  of 
sentiment  we  find  the  atmosphere  of  the  comedy  of  manners 
warped  and  altered  in  the  last  act  by  means  of  some  sudden 
revulsion  of  character  or  by  some  swift  change  in  the  conduct 
of  the  plot.  Thus,  in  Cibber's  Lovers  Last  Shift,  which 
tradition  habitually  acclaims  as  the  originator  of  the  species, 
although  without  due  accuracy,  the  hero  is  an  ordinary 
hero  of  the  manners  school,  until  in  the  end  comes  to  him 
repentance  and  a  new  way  of  life.  As  Cibber  himself  in 
his  apologetic  epilogue  explained  to  the  critics,  he  was  very 
moral  at  the  close. 

But  then  again, 
He's  lewd  for  above  four  Acts,  Gentlemen  ! 

195 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

On  the  other  hand,  we  may  discover  a  number  of  senti- 
mental comedies  where  there  is  a  marked  line  of  demarcation 
between  two  parts  of  the  plot,  or  between  two  groups  of 
characters.  There  are  countless  plays,  for  example,  of  the 
species  which  combines  thus  a  sentimental  portion  and  a 
portion  dealing  entirely  with  intrigue,  or,  more  commonly, 
with  '  humours.'  Thus,  in  The  Fugitive  of  Joseph  Richardson 
there  is  a  distinctly  sentimental  theme  dealing  with  Sir 
William  Wingrove  and  his  daughter  Julia,  whom  he  plans 
to  give  to  Lord  Dartford,  but  the  surroundings  of  this  theme 
are  occupied  entirely  with  the  '  humours '  of  Larron, 
O'Donnel,  and  Admiral  Cleveland.  So,  in  The  Secret  of 
Edward  Morris  the  sentimental  is  richly  stressed  in  the 
rejection  of  Henry  by  Rosa  because  of  her  poverty,  and  in  the 
subsequent  rejection  of  Rosa  by  Henry  because  the  latter 
has  found  that  his  sweetheart's  poverty  is  due  to  the  action 
of  his  own  father,  but  the  element  of  'humours'  in  Lizard 
and  his  family  provides  all  the  comic  spirit  in  the  play. 

"  Provides  all  the  comic  spirit  in  the  play" — here  indeed 
lies  the  secret  of  the  sentimental  comedy.  There  is,  in 
point  of  fact,  no  such  thing  as  sentimental  comedy  at  all. 
The  sentimental  parts  of  the  plays  called  sentimental  are 
purely  serious ;  the  situations  are  situations  that  raise  a 
problem  in  our  minds ;  the  characters  are  almost  always 
individualized.  In  true  comedy  Rosa  and  Julia  would  have 
been  mere  types,  and  we  should  not  have  cared  what  they 
did  or  felt ;  but  in  this  sentimental  comedy  they  are  indi- 
vidualized, and  at  once  their  positions  become  pathetic  or 
serious.  Not  for  one  moment  do  we  even  smile  at  the 
sentimental  portions  or  at  the  sentimental  characters ;  the 
mirth  all  comes  in  the  Cibber  type  from  the  basis  of  manners, 
and  in  the  later  type  from  the  sub-plots  or  sub-characters  of 
the  '  humours '  or  the  intrigue  species.  In  point  of  fact, 
although  this  seems  to  have  escaped  the  notice  of  the  critics, 
196 


COMEDY 

all  that  we  mean  by  sentimental  comedy  is  either  a  senti- 
mental play  (or  drame)  with  an  added  element  of  mirth 
derived  from  manners  or  '  humours '  or  intrigue,  or  else  a 
play  of  the  ordinary  manners  type  which  ends  on  a  moral 
note  by  causing  a  revulsion  of  character  and  by  relating  the 
position  in  the  final  act  of  the  drama  to  the  situations  of  real 
life.  The  sentimental  comedy,  therefore,  is  not  a  separate 
type  of  comic  creation,  but  merely  the  name  given  to  a 
particular  union  of  the  serious  and  the  amusing. 

Before  closing  this  section  a  further  note  might  be  made 
concerning  nomenclature.  It  has  been  plentifully  apparent 
that  not  only  in  this  last  instance  have  the  terms  applied 
regularly  by  criticism  to  the  types  of  comedy  been  misleading 
and  erroneous.  The  comedy  of  '  humours  '  has  nothing  of 
humour  in  it :  sentimental  comedy  cannot  truly  be  said  to 
exist.  A  plea  might  therefore  be  made  for  a  new  set  of 
titles,  based  not  on  chance  application,  but  upon  a  study  of 
the  comic  methods  employed  by  each  species.  Shakespeare's 
comedy  might  deserve  the  name  of  comedy  of  humour,  for 
that  is  its  predominant  characteristic,  giving  birth  to  all 
the  laughter  in  his  dramas.  Romantic  tragi-comedy  might 
serve  for  the  plays  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  in  which  a 
union  of  the  serious  and  of  the  laughable  is  marked.  Jonson's 
comedy  would  be  the  comedy  of  satire,  dependent  not  upon 
wit,  and  innocent  of  humour.  The  plays  of  Etherege  and 
of  Congreve  would,  on  the  same  principle,  be  the  comedy 
of  wit,  the  word  manners,  unless  fully  understood  in  all  its 
bearings,  merely  causing  confusion  between  the  dramas  of 
the  Restoration  and  the  dramas  of  the  early  seventeenth 
century.  By  thus  clarifying  the  nomenclature  of  comic 
types  and  by  bearing  these  titles  in  mind  we  might  go  far 
toward  appreciating  the  fundamental  characteristics  of  each 
separate  species. 


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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

(iv)  TRAGI-COMEDY 

Characteristics  of  Sentimental  Drama. — In  the  last 
section  it  has  been  seen  that  the  sentimental  in  itself  is  never 
amusing,  and  that  consequently  it  is  not  comic  in  the  ordinary 
sense  of  that  word.  On  the  other  hand,  the  sentimental 
plays  are  clearly  differentiated  from  tragedy  not  only  in 
having  happy  endings,  but  in  presenting  their  matter  in 
such  a  way  that  we  are  not  thrilled  and  awed  by  the  scenes 
set  before  us.  This  lack  of  thrill  and  of  awe  is  the  prime 
point  of  difference  between  the  two.  The  sentimental 
drama,  however,  does  appeal  to  our  emotions  rather  than 
to  our  intellect,  or  else  it  combines  a  double  emotional  and 
intellectual  appeal.  The  emotions  that  it  appeals  to  are 
sympathy  and  pity.  '  Sympathetic '  tears  and  '  sentimental ' 
tears  are  almost  synonymous  terms  for  the  eighteenth 
century.  In  tragedy,  as  we  have  seen,  pity  and  sympathy 
are  largely  absent  because  the  figures  presented  on  the  stage 
are  greater  and  more  massive  than  ourselves.  In  senti- 
mental drama,  on  the  contrary,  the  attempt  is  always  made 
to  present  life  and  the  characters  of  life  as  these  actually 
appear  to  us.  Feelings  may  be  artificialized  to  modern 
standards  :  sentimentalism  may  frequently  connote  an  atmo- 
sphere of  hypocrisy ;  but  there  is  the  genuine  endeavour  on 
the  part  of  all  the  sentimental  dramatists  to  create  scenes  of 
real  life,  those  scenes  of  real  life  displaying  a  problem  of  some 
distinct  and  more  or  less  poignant  nature.  This  problem 
involves  the  assumption  that  art  should  be  related  to  life, 
and  therefore  in  the  sentimental  plays  there  is  always  a 
moral  note.  There  is  an  element  of  preaching,  of  incul- 
cating some  moral  or  religious  precept,  which  may  be  lofty 
or  may  be  merely  hypocritically  self-seeking.  In  the  two 
plays  referred  to  above — and  there  is  no  need  to  multiply 
instances — the  problem  is  duly  stressed.  In  the  one  it  is 
198 


COMEDY 

the  relation  between  father  and  daughter,  when  the  former 
desires  to  hurry  the  latter  into  what  will  quite  evidently  be  a 
disastrous  marriage ;  in  the  other,  it  is  the  relation  between  a 
lover  and  h.h  fiancee,  first  when  she  is  a  poor  ward  and  he  the 
son  of  a  rich  father,  and  again  when  he  discovers  that  she  is 
poor  because  his  father  has  cheated  her  of  her  money.  In  the 
more  fully  developed  plays  of  the  type  the  problem  will  cer- 
tainly be  more  profoundly  expressed,  and  the  solution,  if  any, 
will  be  richer;  but  in  all,  crudely  or  artistically,  it  is  present. 
The  fact  that  in  this  sentimental  drama  the  characters 
are  of  real  life  renders  the  theme  very  close  to  the  realm  of 
comedy ;  but  it  must  be  carefully  realized  that  the  senti- 
mental drama  in  itself  lies  as  far  from  comedy  as  it  does  from 
tragedy.  Comedy  is  non-moral,  the  sentimental  drama  is 
purposeful ;  comedy  is  largely  intellectual,  the  sentimental 
drama  is  essentially  emotional ;  comedy  deals  with  types, 
the  sentimental  drama  deals  with  individuals  ;  comedy  does 
not  relate  itself  to  the  problems  of  life,  the  sentimental 
drama  depends  for  its  very  being  on  this  relationship.  This 
particular  type  of  drama,  therefore,  stands  as  a  class  by  itself, 
separate  both  from  high  tragedy  and  from  fine  comedy. 
These  latter  two  are  connected  by  their  ideality  and  by  their 
level  above  real  life  ;  the  sentimental  is  opposed  to  both  in 
its  actuality.  It  is  here  that  there  lies  the  greatest  danger 
for  the  sentimental  dramatist ;  the  type  is  too  ordinary. 
It  is  dragged  down  to  a  lower  plane  and  cannot  accordingly 
have  that  universality  demanded  by  the  finest  art.  It  may 
be  very  moral  and  very  interesting  ;  pleas  may  be  made 
for  it  from  the  days  of  CoUey  Cibber  to  those  of  Ian  Hay, 
but  it  will  always  fail  when  tested  by  the  highest  standards. 
When  given  an  unhappy  ending,  as  in  the  domestic  tragedies, 
it  may,  by  a  change  of  stress  and  of  emotion,  rise  higher  and 
acquire  a  fresh  and  a  larger  significance,  but  in  its  non- 
tragic   form,   dwelling   on   sympathy  and   pity  and   moral 

199 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

considerations,  it  is  bound  to  be  ephemeral  and  temporary. 
Even  Shakespeare,  utiHzing  something  of  its  spirit  in 
Measure  for  Measure  and  in  JlPs  Well  that  Ends  Welly 
failed  to  produce  plays  that  would  stand  the  test  of  time  as 
Othello  and  As  You  Like  It  have  done. 

Other  Types  of  Tragi-comedy. — The  question  of 
tragi-comedy  of  the  more  marked  types  has  already  been 
touched  upon.  It  has  been  seen  that  comedy  could  unite 
with  genuinely  tragic  elements  to  create  a  truly  great  play. 
There  may,  however,  in  conclusion  to  this  brief  attempt 
at  an  analysis  of  dramatic  characteristics,  be  given  a  word 
concerning  the  union  of  these  two  elements.  In  the  first 
place  it  may  be  noted  that  the  comic  may  appear  in  tragic 
plays  for  three  very  different  purposes.  It  may  be  employed 
as  a  contrast  to  the  tragic.  In  this  case  it  very  seldom 
raises  a  laugh.  The  porter  scene  in  Macbeth  is  comic, 
but  it  is  a  grim  sort  of  comedy  that  serves  to  make  more 
terrible  the  events  taking  place  within  the  castle.  The 
comic  may,  on  the  other  hand,  be  brought  in  as  a  relief 
rather  than  as  a  contrast.  The  servant  scenes  and  the 
Mercutio  scenes  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  are  an  example  of  this. 
Here  the  comic  is  genuinely  amusing  and  intended  to  be 
amusing,  devised  to  form  a  breathing  space,  as  it  were,  in 
the  midst  of  the  tragic  action.  Some  of  the  jests  of  Lear's 
fool  have  the  same  purpose,  although  here  the  ideas  of 
contrast  and  of  relief  seem  inextricably  intermingled.  This 
relief  has  not  been  greatly  practised  by  Shakespeare,  although 
it  has  been  a  marked  feature  of  many  of  the  other  early 
seventeenth-century  dramas.  It  is  just  possible  that  he 
realized  the  difficulty  it  involves  in  regard  to  the  final 
disposition  of  the  humorous  figures.  Generally,  these  have 
to  be  got  rid  of  by  death  ;  Mercutio  is  slain  in  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  2in6.  Bergetto  in  Ford's  'T/V  Pity  is  stabbed  by  mistake. 
The  end  of  such  characters,  however,  does  not  fill  us 
200 


COMEDY 

with  the  genuine  mood  of  tragedy.  We  feel  that  there  is 
something  wrong  in  their  deaths ;  an  element  of  doubt  is 
raised,  and  doubt  is  fatal  to  the  spirit  of  tragedy.  Thirdly, 
the  comic,  apart  from  these,  may  be  developed  along  lines 
of  its  own,  parallel  to  the  main  plot  and  independent  of  it. 
In  this  case  the  contrast  between  the  two  moods  or  spirits 
almost  invariably  leads  the  playwright  to  disaster.  We  may 
have  successful  romantic  dramas  such  as  The  Winter^s  Tale, 
where  there  are  comic  and  serious  portions,  the  serious 
ending  not  unhappily  ;  but  the  union  of  an  unhappy  theme 
with  mirthful  comedy  must  always  seem  incongruous  unless 
the  comedy  be  relegated  to  a  very  inferior  position.  The 
excuse  that  most  romantic  critics  and  independent  neo- 
classic  critics  have  given  for  tragi-comedy — its  truth  to 
nature — must  therefore  be  dismissed  as  unavailing.  Truth 
to  nature  is  not  the  test  of  drama  ;  there  are  many  things 
in  nature  which  cannot  be  satisfactorily  dramatized,  and  the 
union  of  the  different  moods  of  ordinary  life  must  be  care- 
fully harmonized  before  they  can  be  artistically  included  in 
one  single  play.  Drama  is  based  on  life,  but  it  is  life  selected 
and  made  harmonious.  It  presents  the  moods  of  our  minds 
and  hearts  abstracted  and  placed  in  an  intensified  isolation. 
The  drama  has  not  only  laws  of  its  own,  but  characteristics 
of  its  own  ;  it  is  human  life  and  character  raised  and  placed 
on  a  new  plane  of  existence,  where  other  laws  and  other 
customs  rule  than  those  on  this  earth.  We  cannot  criticize 
this  drama  from  the  ordinary  point  of  view  of  natural 
existence. 

This  independence  of  drama,  realized  so  long  ago  by 
Aristotle,  must  appear  one  of  the  strangest  peculiarities  of 
this  particular  type  of  literature,  for  the  drama,  more  than 
the  majority  of  other  arts,  would  seem  to  take  its  very  life 
from  the  actions  and  the  thoughts  of  mortal  men  and  women. 
Nevertheless,  the  fact   remains   that,   however  much   the 

201 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

theatre  may  attempt  to  depict  human  personahties,  it  must 
always  show  them  in  an  idealized  light,  moving  in  a  world 
of  their  own.  This  world  can  be  fully  understood  only 
when  we  have  endeavoured  to  investigate  those  elements 
which  seem  to  be  common  to  all  the  great  dramatists. 
Herein,  therefore,  lies  the  apologia  for  this  attempt,  tentative 
and  possibly  fragmentary,  to  investigate,  analyse  and,  as  far 
as  possible,  classify  the  characteristics  of  that  art  which  has 
charmed  millions  for  centuries  upon  centuries,  and  has  given 
to  the  world  the  profound  genius  of  an  iEschylus,  a  Sophocles, 
and  a  Shakespeare,  as  well  as  the  gaiety  and  the  wit  and  the 
laughter  of  a  Terence,  a  Moliere,  and  a  Congreve. 


202 


APPENDIX 

I.  BRIEF  BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  DRAMATIC 
THEORY  1 

(i)  GENERAL 

IT  is  impossible  to  dissociate  the  study  of  dramatic  theory  from 
the  larger  study  of  literary  criticism  generally.  The  standard 
history  of  the  whole  subject  is  Professor  Saintsbury's  History 
of  Literary  Criticism.  The  portions  devoted  to  English  criticism 
have  recently  been  abstracted  from  this  and  issued  as  a  separate 
volume.  As  a  companion  book,  the  Loci  Critici  of  Professor 
Saintsbury  is  exceedingly  useful.  In  this  work  the  most  important 
critical  passages  of  writers  from  Aristotle  to  Arnold  have  been 
collected  and  annotated.  A  full  bibliography  of  literary  criticism 
is  to  be  found  in  Gayley  and  Scott's  Methods  and  Materials  of 
Literary  Criticism.  Two  volumes  in  the  "  World's  Classics " 
series  present  collections  of  critical  essays  ;  the  first  deals  with 
early  critical  theory,  the  second  with  literary  theory  of  the  nine- 
teenth century.  For  further  study  Spingarn's  Critical  Essays 
of  the  Seventeenth  Century  and  his  History  of  Literary  Criticism 
in  the  Renaissance  will  be  found  valuable.  The  various  Elizabethan 
critical  essays  have  been  collected  by  Gregory  Smith.  Nichol 
Smith's  Eighteenth-century  Essays  on  Shakespeare  (Maclehose) 
and  the  same  editor's  Shakespeare  Criticism  present  the  typical 
pronouncements  on  our  master-dramatist  by  the  neo-classicists 
and  others.  Durham's  Critical  Essays  of  the  Eighteenth  Century 
(Yale  University  Press)  is  a  valuable  detailed  study  of  the  ideals 
of  this  period. 

(ii)  INDIVIDUAL  WORKS 

Aristotle. — The  best  translation  of  the  Poetics  is  that  by 
Professor  Butcher.     Butcher's  notes  should  be  carefully  studied. 

^  It  will  be  understood  that  nothing  like  completeness  could  be 
aimed  at  in  either  of  these  brief  bibliographies.  I  ndeed, ' '  Suggestions 
for  Reading  in  Dramatic  Theory  "  would  have  been  a  more  fitting 
title  for  each. 

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INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

In  reading  Aristotle  the  few  remarks  on  the  drama  made  by  Plato 
should  not  be  disregarded.  These  are  scattered  throughout  his 
discourses,  although  the  most  important  appear  in  The  Republic 
("  Golden  Treasury  "  series).  On  Plato's  criticism  there  is  a  good 
essay  by  Pater  in  Plato  and  Platonism,  and  an  interesting  study  by 
W.  C.  Green — "  Plato's  View  of  Poetry  " — in  Harvard  Studies 
in  Philology,  vol.  xxix. 

Horace's  The  Epistle  to  the  Pisos  is  well  rendered  by  Saintsbury 
in  his  Loci  Critici. 

Medieval  Criticism  does  not  deal  largely  with  drama,  owing 
to  the  loss  of  that  type  of  literature  after  the  fall  of  the  Roman 
Empire.  Even  Chaucer's  definition  of  tragedy  (quoted  p.  54) 
does  not  strictly  refer  to  dramatic  form,  but  to  tragic  tales. 

Renascence  Criticism  is  well  dealt  with  by  Spingarn,  op.  cit. 
Castelvetro  is  very  important,  as  is  Vida.  On  these  the  later  neo- 
classic  writers  of  France  and  of  England  modelled  themselves. 
A  few  extracts  will  be  found  in  Loci  Critici. 

Sidney's  Jn  Apologie  for  Poetrie  should  be  read  in  the  reprint 
of  Professor  Arber.  In  this  series  also  will  be  found  the  work  of 
Puttenham,  The  Arte  of  English  Poetrie.,  and  of  Webbe,  A  Discourse 
of  English  Poetrie,  both  of  which,  however,  deal  rather  with  poetry 
in  general  than  with  drama  in  particular. 

Jonson  wrote  no  system  of  criticism,  but  his  ideas  are  to  be 
seen  in  his  Timber,  or  Discoveries,  and  in  the  prologues  to  his 
various  plays.  It  should  be  noted  that  the  judgments  given  in 
Timber  are  not  wholly  original,  but,  like  those  of  Sidney,  are  very 
largely  derived,  even  directly  translated,  from  passages  in  preceding 
critics. 

Boileau's  V Art  Podtique  should  certainly  be  read  before  attempt- 
ing any  work  on  later  seventeenth-century  English  critics.  With 
this  might  be  taken  the  Reflexions  sur  la  Poitique  of  Rapin.  Both 
of  these  have  been  well  analysed  by  Saintsbury. 

Dryden  stands  out  as  the  first  original  English  wTiter  on  literary 
theory.  His  essays  have  been  excellently  edited  by  Professor 
W.  P.  Ker,  and  the  Dramatic  Essays  have  been  selected  by  W.  H. 
Hudson  for  the  "  Everyman  "  series. 

Augustan  Criticism  presents  little  of  original  material  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  drama.  Rymer  should  be  read  to  gain 
an  idea  of  the  severer  form  ;  Addison  to  gain  an  idea  of  the  more 
mellowed,  refined  theories  of  the  age  ;  and  Pope  {Essay  on  Criticism) 
to  gain  an  idea  of  the  average  rules  taken  over  from  the  Continent 
204 


APPENDIX 

and  here  laid  down  with  epigrammatic  force.  Dr  Johnson  is 
important  because  of  his  defiant  personality.  Of  his  work  several 
essays  in  The  Rambler  (see  p.  26)  ought  to  be  read,  as  well  as  his 
prologue,  spoken  by  Garrick  at  the  opening  of  the  Theatre  Royal, 
Drury  Lane. 

Romantic  Criticism  deals  almost  exclusively  with  poetry. 
Hazlitt  is  one  notable  exception.  His  Lectures  on  the  English  Comic 
Writers  will  be  found  in  the  "  Everyman  "  series.  Coleridge's 
Notes  on  Shakespeare  ("  Everyman ")  should  also  be  consulted, 
and  Thackeray's  The  English  Humourists  (ed.  F.  E.  Bumby, 
Harrap). 

Modern  Criticism  has  devoted  more  space  to  this  subject. 
On  comedy  Meredith's  Essay  on  the  Idea  of  Comedy  is  important. 
Professor  Bergson's  he  Rire  (Hachette ;  English  translation, 
Macmillan)  should  be  studied  carefully,  as  well  as  Sully's  Jn 
Essay  on  Laughter.  There  is  a  short  essay  on  comedy  by  C.  Palmer 
which  presents  some  valuable  suggestions.  Reference  might  also 
be  made  to  the  new  theories  of  the  esthetic  of  Benedetto  Croce, 
and  to  the  studies  in  psychology  by  Freud  and  others.  Particular 
attention  might  be  paid  to  the  latter  philosopher's  Wit  and  its 
Relation  to  the  Unconscious.  On  tragedy  W.  L.  Courtney's  The 
Idea  of  Tragedy  is  valuable.  Thorndike's  Tragedy  is  rather 
historical  than  analytical.  Professor  Vaughan's  Types  of  Tragic 
Drama  is  probably  the  best  book  on  the  subject  we  have.  Brander 
Matthews'  three  works.  The  Development  of  the  Drama,  A 
Study  of  the  Drama,  and  The  Principles  of  Playmaking,  should 
certainly  be  read,  and  there  is  some  interesting  material  in 
Professor  Lewis  Campbell's  Tragic  Drama  in  JEschylus,  Sophocles, 
and  Shakespeare.  As  stated  in  the  text,  Maeterlinck's  essay  on 
"  The  Tragical  in  Daily  Life,"  in  The  Treasure  of  the  Humble, 
is  an  important  piece  of  criticism.  Since  the  writing  of  this  book 
there  has  appeared  a  short  but  suggestive  essay  on  Tragedy  by 
Dr  J.  S.  Smart,  and  a  fuller  analysis  of  comedy,  The  Psychology  of 
Laughter  and  Comedy,  by  J.  Y.  T.  Greig. 


205 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 


II.  BRIEF  BIBLIOGRAPHY  OF  SELECT 
DRAMATIC  WORKS 

[A)  GREEK  DRAMA 
(i)  General 

There  is  an  interesting  essay  on  Greek  drama  in  Dent's  "  Temple 
Primers."  T^e  Athenian  Drama  by  Professors  G.  C.  W.  Warr, 
J.  S.  Phillimore,  and  G.  G.  Murray  presents  a  more  detailed 
account.  On  the  Greek  stage  Manzius'  History  of  Theatrical 
Art  and  Flickinger's  The  Greek  Theater  might  be  consulted. 

(il)  Particular  Writers 

^scHYLUs  has  left  seven  plays :  Persce,  Seven  against  Thebes, 
Prometheus  Bound,  Suppliants,  Agamemnon,  Choephorce,  Eumenides. 
These  last  three  form  a  trilogy  dealing  with  the  theme  of  Orestes, 
and  are  often  classed  together  as  the  Oresteia.  A  translation  of  all, 
by  A.  Swanwick,  is  published  in  the  Bohn  Library.  Morshead's 
House  of  A  ire  us  is  also  a  fine  translation  of  the  Oresteia. 

Sophocles.  Again,  seven  of  this  dramatist's  plays  are  extant : 
Trachinice,  Ajax,  Electra,  (Edipus  Tyrannus,  CEdipus  Coloneus, 
Antigone,  Philoctetes.  There  are  besides  a  few  scattered  fragments 
of  his  130  odd  dramas.  The  translations  by  Sir  R.  C.  Jebb  and 
by  R.  Whitelaw  are  both  excellent. 

Euripides.  Of  Euripides'  92  dramas,  eighteen  or  nineteen  have 
been  preserved  :  Alcestis,  Medea,  Hippolytus,  Hecuba,  Andromache, 
Ion,  Suppliants,  Heracleidce,  Heracles  Mad,  Iphigenia  in  Tauris, 
Troades,  Helen,  Phcenissce,  Electra,  Orestes,  Iphigenia  at  Aulis, 
Bacchce,  Cyclops  {^Rhesus  is  probably  spurious).  The  best  trans- 
lations are  undoubtedly  those  of  Professor  Gilbert  Murray.  An 
interesting  rendering  of  the  Cyclops  is  to  be  found  in  Shelley's  works. 
The  Alcestis  appears  in  part  in  Browning's  Balaustion's  Adventure. 

Aristophanes  wrote,  it  is  said,  about  fifty-five  comedies.  Of 
these  only  eleven  have  been  handed  down  to  us  :  Acharnians, 
Knights,  Clouds,  Wasps,  Peace,  Birds,  Lysistrata,  Thesmo- 
phoriazusce,  Frogs,  Ecclesiazusa,  Plutus.  There  is  a  translation 
in  six  volumes,  by  B.  B.  Rogers. 
206 


APPENDIX 


(5)  ROMAN  DRAMA 

Seneca,  the  most  famous  of  the  Roman  tragic  poets,  has  left 
ten  plays  :  Agamemnon,  Hercules  Furens,  Hercules  (Et<£us,  Medea, 
Octavia  (apparently  spurious),  Oedipus,  Phcedra,  Phcenissce, 
Tkyestes,  Troades.  These  were  translated  into  English  in  the 
second  half  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  have  seen  several  render- 
ings since  that  date.  A  handy  translation  is  that  of  E.  C.  Harris. 
There  is  a  well-written  account  of  his  work  by  F.  L.  Lucas,  Seneca 
and  Elizabethan  Tragedy. 

Terence  has  six  comedies  :  Andria,  Heauton  Timorumenos, 
EunuchuSy  Pkormio,  Hecyra,  Adelphce.  The  text  and  translation 
are  given  in  the  Loeb  Classical  Library. 

Plautus  is  more  plentifully  represented  than  any  of  the  others, 
there  being  twenty-one  of  his  plays  as  well  as  various  fragments 
extant  :  Amphkruo,  Asinaria,  Aulularia,  Bacckides,  Capthi, 
Casina,  Cistellaria,  Curculio,  Epidicus,  Menceckmi,  Mercaior, 
Miles  Gloriosus,  Mostellaria,  Persa,  Pcenulus,  Pseudolus,  Rudens, 
Stickus,  Trinummus,  TruculentuSy  Vidularia.  Five  plays  have  been 
translated  by  Sugden. 


(C)  ENGLISH  DRAMA 
(i)   General 

The  standard  history  of  English  drama  from  the  beginnings  to 
1 7 14  is  that  of  Sir  A.  W.  Ward,  although  it  has  been  superseded 
by  other  more  detailed  studies.  A  shorter  account  of  the  develop- 
ment of  drama  is  given  in  Benjamin  Brawley's  A  Short  History  of 
the  English  Drama. 

(ii)  Medieval 

On  the  development  of  the  mysteries  see  E.  K.  Chambers, 
The  Medieval  Stage  ;  F.  Schelling,  Elizabethan  Drama  ;  J.  A. 
Symonds,  Shakespere^s  Predecessors;  F.  S.  Boas,  Shakspere  and 
his  Predecessors.  Gayley's  Representative  English  Comedies  con- 
tains specimens  of  this  early  work,  as  does  Everyman  and  other 
Mysteries  ("  Everyman ").  Professor  A.  W.  Pollard's  English 
Miracle  Plays,  Moralities^  and  Interludes  is  most  useful. 

207 


INTRODUCTION  TO   DRAMATIC  THEORY 

(iii)  Pre-Shakespearian 

W.  A.  Neilson's  The  Chief  Elizabethan  Dramatists  gives  some 
thirty  Elizabethan  plays  of  varying  dates.  This  collection  will  be 
found  exceedingly  useful.  Two  volumes  in  the  "  Everyman  " 
series — Pre-Shakespearean  Tragedies  and  P  re-Shakespeare  an  Come- 
dies— provide  a  small  series  of  interesting  plays.  There  are  many 
larger  collections  of  early  and  Elizabethan  plays  {e.g.,  Dodsley's, 
Farmer's  Facsimiles,  Malone  Society  publications).  The  best 
edition  of  Lyly  is  that  edited  by  R.  W.  Bond.  A.  H.  Bullen  has 
edited  Peek's  works  (Stratford-on-Avon).  Greene's  plays  appear 
in  the  "  Mermaid  "  series,  and  have  also  been  edited  by  J.  Churton 
Collins.  The  best  edition  of  Nashe  is  that  of  R.  B.  McKerrow. 
Marlowe's  plays  appear  in  the  "  Mermaid  "  series,  and  have  also 
been  edited  recently  by  C.  F.  T.  Brooke.  On  the  early  comedy 
preceding  these  University  Wits  see  a  pamphlet  by  A.  W.  Reed 
on  The  Beginnings  of  the  Secular  Romantic  Drama  (Oxford  Uni- 
versity Press,  for  the  Shakespeare  Association).  Suggested  short 
list  for  reading  :  (i)  early  interludes  :  The  Four  P's  ;  (ii)  early 
comedy  :  Gammer  Gurtons  Needle,  Ralph  Roister  Doister ;  (iii) 
romantic  comedy  :  Lyly's  Endimion,  Greene's  Friar  Bacon  and 
Friar  Bungay  ;  (iv)  Marlowe's  Tamburlaine  and  Dr  Faustus  ; 
(v)  Senecan  drama  :  Sackville  and  Norton's  Gorboduc,  Kyd's 
Spanish  Tragedy.  A  study  of  some  of  Shakespeare's  originals  is 
also  interesting  as  showing  his  methods  ;  the  anonymous  King 
Leiri^''  Shakespeare  Classics  ")  and  The  Taming  of  a  Shrew  ("  Shake- 
speare Classics  ")  might  be  suggested  in  this  connexion. 

(iv)   Shakespearian 

The  critical  work  on  Shakespeare  is  so  vast  that  only  a  few 
suggestions  may  here  be  made.  In  connexion  with  this  book 
Professor  Bradley's  Shakespearean  Tragedy  ought  to  be  studied. 
Sir  Sidney  Lee's  is  the  standard  biography.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh's 
volume  in  the  "  English  Men  of  Letters  "  series,  and  Professor 
Dowden's  Shakespeare,  his  Mind  and  Art,  are  also  exceedingly 
suggestive. 

(v)  Contemporaries  of  Shakespeare 

The  collection  of  Neilson  referred  to  above  will  be  found  useful. 
The  "  Mermaid  "  series  and  the  "  Belles  Lcttres  "  series  present 
interesting  selections  of  plays.  Schelling's  Elizabethan  Drama 
208 


APPENDIX 

is  the  standard  history  of  the  development  of  tragedy  and  comedy 
in  this  age.  For  one  comparatively  unacquainted  with  the  drama 
of  the  period  the  following  might  be  taken  as  a  suggested  course  of 
reading  : 

(i)  Domestic  tragedy :  Arden  of  Feverskam ;  Heywood's 
The  English  Travellers-ndiA  Woman  Killed  with  Kindnessl^''  Belles 
Lettres  ").  (ii)  Domestic  comedy  :  Jonson's  Every  Man  in  his 
Humour;  Chapman's  The  Shoemaker's  Holiday.  (iii)  Satiric 
comedy  :  Jonson's  The  Alchemist  ("  Belles  Lettres  ")  and  Volpone. 
(iv)  Early  comedy  of  wit :  Fletcher's  The  Wild-Goose  Chase. 
(v)  Tragedy  of  horror  :  Marston's  Antonio  and  Mellida  and 
Antonio's  Revenge ;  Ford's  'Tis  Pity  and  The  Broken  Heart 
("  Belles  Lettres ")  ;  Webster's  The  White  Devil  and  The 
Duchess  of  Malfi  ("  Belles  Lettres  ").  (vi)  Neo-classic  tragedy  : 
Jonson's  Sejanus  ("  Belles  Lettres  ").  (vii)  Romantic  tragedy 
and  tragi-comedy  :  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  The  Maid's  Tragedy, 
Philaster,  and  A  King  and  No  King  ("  Belles  Lettres  ").i 
(viii)  Burlesque  serious  drama:  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  The 
Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle  ("  Belles  Lettres  "). 

It  must  be  noted  that  this  list  presents  merely  a  few  plays 
possessing  features  discussed  in  the  text  of  this  book. 


(vi)  Restoration 

Sir  A.  W.  Ward  for  this  period  is  not  so  trustworthy  as  he  is 
for  the  earlier  time.  Nettleton  has  a  slight  history  of  drama  from 
1642  to  1780  which  might  be  consulted.  D'Avenant's  Love  and 
Honor  and  The  Siege  of  Rhodes  ("  Belles  Lettres  ")  should  be  read. 
A  selection  of  Dryden's  plays  appears  in  the  "  Mermaid  "  series, 
and  All  for  Love  and  The  Spanish  Fryar  have  been  edited  by 
Professor  Strunk  in  the  "  Belles  Lettres  "  collection.  Etherege 
has  been  edited  by  Verity  ;  Wycherley,  Congreve,  and  Vanbrugh 
are  in  the  "  Mermaid  "  series ;  Farquhar's  The  Beaux'  Stratagem 
and  The  Recruiting  Officer  in  the  "  Belles  Lettres  "  edition.  The 
selection  of  Shadwell's  plays  in  the  "  Mermaid  "  series  should  be 
read,  and,  if  possible,  some  of  the  cruder  heroic  dramas  {e.g.,  those 
of  Settle).  There  are,  however,  few  reprints  of  minor  Restoration 
dramas.     Otway's    The   Orphan  and   Venice   Preserv'd  ("  Belles 

^  Middleton's  The  Witch  is  also  interesting  as  a  crude  example  of 
this  type,  and  the  witches  are  interesting  when  compared  with  the 
weird  sisters  of  Macbeth. 

O  209 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Lettres  ")  are  exceedingly  important,  and  Rowe's  The  Fair  Penitent 
and  Jane  Shore  ("  Belles  Lettres  ")  present  interesting  character- 
istics. Adaptations  of  Shakespeare  also  are  worth  studying.  Some 
of  these  appear  in  the  appendices  to  Furncss'  Variorum  edition  of 
Shakespeare  ;  others  are  given  in  Montague  Summers'  Shakespeare 
Adaptations.  Odell's  Shakespeare  from  Betterton  to  Irving  and 
the  present  writer's  Dryden  as  an  Adapter  of  Shakespeare  (Oxford 
University  Press,  for  the  Shakespeare  Association)  might  likewise 
be  glanced  at. 

(vii)  Eighteenth  Century 

Some  of  the  writers  mentioned  above  {e.g.,  Vanbrugh,  Farquhar, 
and  Rowe)  really  belong  in  date  to  this  section.  Eighteenth- 
century  drama  as  a  whole  is  poor.  Lillo's  The  London  Merchant 
and  Fatal  Curiosity  ("  Belles  Lettres  ")  should  be  read,  and  along 
with  them  W.  H.  Hudson's  admirable  essay  in  Q,uiet  Hours  in  a 
Library.  Addison's  Cato  is  the  typical  neo-classic  tragedy,  Steele's 
The  Conscious  Lovers  one  of  the  typical  sentimental  dramas,  Gay's 
The  Beggar's  Opera  the  typical  ballad  opera.  Moore's  The  Gamester 
is  a  readable  domestic  tragedy.  Goldsmith's  She  Stoops  to  Conquer 
("  Belles  Lettres  ")  and  Sheridan's  The  School  for  Scandal  repre- 
sent the  revival  of  the  comedy  of  manners.  For  this  period  The 
British  Theatre,  a  series  of  plays  collected  by  Mrs  Inchbald  and 
published  in  1808,  will  be  found  invaluable.  It  is  still  fairly  easily 
procured  second-hand. 

(viii)  Romantic 

Nearly  all  the  poets  of  the  early  nineteenth  century  attempted 
drama.  Shelley's  Z"/^^  Cenci  ("  Belles  Lettres  ")  is  the  finest;  but 
Coleridge's  Remorse  and  Byron's  Cain,  The  Two  Foscari,  and 
Werner,  as  well  as  some  of  Browning's  plays,  should  be  read. 
The  ordinary  acting  drama  is  not  of  high  standard. 

(ix)  Modern 

No  more  than  a  bare  selection  can  here  be  given.  Robertson's 
Society  and  Caste  ("  Belles  Lettres  ")  are  late  nineteenth-century 
acting  plays.  Wilde's  Lady  Windermere' s  Fan  and  The  Importance 
of  being  Earnest  show  a  new  revival  of  the  comedy  of  wit.  The 
plays  of  Pinero  and  of  H.  A.  Jones  reach  a  higher  standard  than 
was  attained  by  the  acting  drama  in  the  earlier  period.  Masefield's 
The  Tragedy  of  Nan  is  an  interesting  domestic  tragedy.     Barrie, 


APPENDIX 

Shaw,    and    Galsworthy   all   display   the    tendencies    of  modern 
theatrical  productivity. 

{D)  FRENCH  DRAMA 

It  is  impossible  here  to  present  so  full  a  list  of  French  plays  as 
has  been  given  of  English.  There  are  many  histories  of  French 
literature  ;  of  these  that  of  Petit  de  Julleville  is  the  most  thorough. 
GaifFe's  work  on  Lf  Drame  is  an  interesting  and  detailed  history 
of  that  particular  species  of  sentimental  drama  which  dominated 
Europe  in  the  eighteenth  century.  Some  of  Racine  should  be 
read,  for  preference  Jndromaque,  Phedre  (Heath),  and  Birinice. 
MoH^re,  of  course,  is  of  tremendous  importance,  not  only  intrin- 
sically, but  for  his  influence  on  English  comedy  after  1660.  A 
selection  of  his  plays  is  issued  by  Heath  ;  there  is  an  edition  of  the 
(Euvres  Completes  by  the  Oxford  University  Press ;  and  John 
Grant  of  Edinburgh  has  a  full  edition  with  French  on  one  page 
and  translation  (by  A.  R.  Waller)  on  the  other.  There  are  many 
biographies  of  Moli^re.  The  most  complete  in  English  is  that 
of  Chatfield  Taylor.  Something  of  eighteenth-century  French 
drama  should  be  read  {e.g.,  Diderot),  and  full  attention  should  be 
paid  to  the  revival  of  romance  after  the  famous  production  of 
Hernani.  There  are  many  '  problem  '  plays  in  modern  French 
literature,  such  as  those  of  Sardou,  plays  that  take  their  rise  from 
the  Ibsen  movement,  but  present  interesting  variations.  Maeter- 
linck is  exceedingly  important.  Pelleas  et  Melisande  has  been 
issued  in  translation  in  the  "  Scott  "  Library,  and  there  are  English 
renderings  of  most  of  his  other  works. 

(£)  ITALIAN  AND  SPANISH  DRAMA 

Some  of  Calderon's  plays  have  been  excellently  translated  by 
Fitzgerald  and  deserve  reading  for  their  peculiar  romantic  atmo- 
sphere. Goldoni's  work  is  vast,  and  only  a  very  few  of  his  comedies 
have  been  rendered  into  English.  There  is  a  beautifully  printed 
selection  with  designs  by  Lovat  Eraser  recently  published  by 
Cecil  Palmer.  Other  plays  may  be  found  in  a  collection  of 
Masterpieces  of  Foreign  Authors  (1890).  Alfieri  is  certainly  the 
greatest  tragic  poet  of  Italy.  His  dramas  have  been  translated 
into  English  and  published  in  the  Bohn  Library. 

Some  modern  Italian  plays,  such  as  the  earlier  dramas  of 
D'Annunzio,  repay  close  analytical  study. 

211 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

(F)  GERMAN  AND  SCANDINAVIAN  DRAMA 

For  the  sentimental  and  domestic  drama  of  Germany  Kotzebue 
(frequently  translated  in  the  early  nineteenth  century)  should  be 
read.  Schiller,  Lessing,  and  Goethe  are  of  great  importance,  and, 
later,  Hauptmann.  The  standard  translation  of  Ibsen's  works  is 
that  of  William  Archer. 

On  Ibsen  and  Bjornson  see  the  illuminating  essays  by  Brandes, 
edited  by  William  Archer. 


212 


INDEX 


Abraham  Lincoln,  107 

Accius,  15 

Addison,  17,  47,  132,  147 

^schylus,  24,  31,  56-57,  105; 
sternness  of  temper,  72  ;  nobi- 
lity, 76-77 

Agamemnon,  56 

Albertino,  118 

Alchemist,  The,  174,  185 

Alfieri,  21,  24,  105;  sternness  of 
temper,  73;  nobility,  77-81 

All  for  Lo've,  104 

All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  200 

Amphitryon,  39,  132 

Andromaque,  43,  10 1 

Antigone,  24,  dS,  103 

Antony  and  Cleopatra,  10 1,  128 

Apius  and  Virginia,  1 1 9 

Apologie  for  Poetrie,  An,  16,  150 

Appreciation  of  drama,  32-34 

Arden  of  Fenjersham,  21,  49,  51, 
55,  66,  90 

Aristophanes,  12 

Aristotle,  11-13,  17,  255  his 
insistence  on  the  fable,  32-33  ; 
on  the  aim  of  tragedy,  40,  72  ; 
and  universality,  51—52  ;  on  the 
hero,  53-54;  on  the  types  of 
tragic  hero,  98  fF.  ;  on  laughter, 

153 
As  You  Like  It,  141,  178,  180,  200 
Atheist,  The,  98 
Audience,  the,  20 
Aureng-Zebe,  23 
A'veugles,  Les,  32 

Bale,  John,  119 
Banks,  John,  109 


Beaumont  and   Fletcher,   21,  46, 

57.  90'  99'  109'  i39»  HOj  181, 

184,  193-194,  197 
Behn,  Mrs,  194 
Bellamira,  188 
Bergson,  44,    133,    137,    145-146, 

151-154,  158,  162  ff. 
Bjornson,  67 
Blake,  William,  135 
Bradley,  Professor,  61,  71 
Broken  Heart,  The,  129 
Bury  Fair,  189 
Byron,  18,  102 

Cain,  102 

Calderon,  90 

Cambises,  119 

Cardinal,  The,  89 

Careless  Husband,  The,  i^i 

Castelvetro,  115 

Catiline,  24 

Cenci,  The,  98,  100 

Centlivre,  Mrs,  194 

Cervantes,  159 

Changeling,  The,  144 

Charley's  Aunt,  30 

Chatterton,  18 

Chaucer,  on  tragedy,  54,  116,  135 

Choephorce,  24,  56,  77 

Chorus,  the,  23,  90-91,  no 

Cibber,  CoUey,  45,  192,  195-196, 
199 

Clarissa  Harlo'we,  102 

Classic    drama,    opposed    to    ro- 
mantic, 21 

Coleridge,  18,  74,  88,  103 

Collins,  William,  18 

Comedy  of  Errors,  The,  133,  165 
213 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 


Comedy,  types  of:  farce,  176- 
177  ;  comedy  of  romance,  177- 
182  ;  comedy  of  *  humours,* 
182-186  ;  comedy  of  manners, 
186-191  ;  genteel  comedy,  191- 
193  ;  comedy  of  intrigue,  193- 
195;  sentimental  comedy,  195- 
199 

Comical  Renjenge,  The,  2  7 

Conflict,  in  tragedy,  40-44 ;  in 
comedy,  44-47 

Congreve,  38,  45,  135-136,  158, 
173-174,  176,  184,  186-190, 
192,  197 

Conquest  of  Granada,  The,  22,  145 

Conscious  Lowers,  The,  21 

Constant  Couple,  The,  169 

Coriolanus,  loi,  128 

Countess  Cathleen,  57 

Crime,  in  tragedy,  77-84,  100 

Cupid's  Kenjenge,  57 

Custom  of  the  Country,  The,  139 

Cymbeline,  95,  181-182 

Damon  and  Pithias,  1 1 9 

Dante,  116 

D'Avenant,  137 

Defence  of  Poetry,  27 

Dekker,  57 

Descartes,  24 

Dickens,  86 

Diderot,  90 

Discoveries,  16 

Doctor  Faustus,  41,  122-126 

Doll's  House,  A,  50,  85 

Domestic  tragedy,  130 

Double  Dealer,  The,  169,  186-187 

Drame,  the,  130,  144-146,  197 

Drinkwater,  John,  107 

Drummer,  The,  132 

Dryden,   13,   17,  25,   27,   29,   39, 

43,  50,  76,  90,   104,   132,   137, 

148,  t66 
Duchess  of  Malfi,  The,  36,  129 
Dynasts,  The,  68,  93 
214 


Eccerinis,  118 
Ecole  des  Femmes,  L',  135 
£cole  des  Maris,  L',  135 
Edwardes,  Richard,  119 
Edivard  II,  41,  122-126 
Elizabethan  drama,  21,   11 5-1 16. 

See  also  Shakespeare,  etc. 
Enemy  of  the  People,  An,  67 
English  Tranjeller,  The,  67,  141,  144 
Ennius,  15 

Epistle  to  the  Pisos,  The,  14 
Essay  of  Dramatick  Poesie,  17,25 
Essay  on  Laughter,  An,  22 
Etherege,   George,   27,   136,   147, 

158,  185,  186-190,  192,  197 
Etourdi,  L',  96,  155 
Eumenides,  56-57 
Euripides,  12,  57,  81,  100 
E'uery   Man  in  his  Humour,   24, 

182-186 
Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour,  185- 

186 

Fable,  the,  30  fF. 

Farce,  29,  34-35,  176-177 

Farquhar,  George,  39,   132,   169, 

186-190 
Fatal  Curiosity,  The,  100 
Fate,  in  tragedy,  60-62 
Faust,  6  J 
Fletcher  —  see     Beaumont     and 

Fletcher 
Ford,  John,  74,  loi,  109,  129,  200 
Fugitive,  The,  196 

Galsworthy,  John,  67 
Gamester,  The,  2 1 
Gammer  Gurton's  Needle,  182 
German  drama,  21.     See  Schiller, 

etc. 
Ghosts,  70,  84,  144 
Gismond  of  Salerne,  118 
Goethe,  67 
Goldoni,  21 
Gorboduc,  89,  118 


INDEX 


Gray,  Thomas,  i8 

Greek  drama,  23  ;   outer  conflict 

in,    40-41  ;     nobility    in,    76 ; 

origins,     88  ;      verse     in,     95 ; 

general  considerations,  110-115. 

See  ^schylus,  etc. 
Greene,  Robert,  120 
Greig,  J.  Y.  T.,  148 
Gulli'ver's  Travels,  150 

Hamlet,  20,  23,  24,  33-35,  42,  46, 
49  ;  ghost  in,  58-59  ;  sub-plot, 
65 ;  pathos,  74 ;  nobility,  75, 
82,  92  ;  verse  in,  94,  97,  98  j 
type  of  hero,  102  ;  duration, 
112,  127-128,  144 

Hardy,  Thomas,  68 

Hay,  Ian,  199 

Hazlitt,  18,  153,  158,  172-173 

Heauton  Timorumenos,  156-157 

Hegel,  66 

Henry  IV,  147,  166,  177,  184 

Heredity,  70 

Hero,  the,  in  tragedy,  66-6^  ;  types 
of  tragic,  96-110  ;  in  comedy, 
134-136 

Heroic  drama,  29,  43,  76  ;  love 
and  honour,  103-104,  128-129 

Heywood,  Thomas,  49,  67 

Hippolytus,  of  Euripides,  100 

Hippolytus,  of  Seneca,  100-10 1 

Hoadly,  John,  193 

Holcroft,  Thomas,  83,  90,  149 

Horace,  14,  16,  11 7-1 18 

Horestes,  119 

Horror  tragedy,  129 

Hughes,  Thomas,  118 

Humour,  48,  157-160,  172-174 

Hurd,  Richard,  18 

Ibsen,  76  ;  identification  of  hero 
with  class,  67  ;  symbolism,  69  ; 
heredity,  70  ;  sternness,  75 

Importance  of  being  Earnest,  The, 
48,  171 


Incongruity,  153-160 
Innocents  Abroad,  The,  165 
Inwardness,    in    tragedy,    36  ;    in 
comedy,  38-40 

"Ja^ie  Shore,  The  Tragedy  of,  109 
Jenx)  of  Malta,  The,  41,  122-126 
Johan,  King,  119 
Johnson,  Dr,  17-18,  26 
Jonson,  16,  24,  96,  182-186,  197 
Justice,  68,  106-107 
Juvenal,  149,  174 

Kant,  153 
Kingsley,  86 
Kotzebue,  90,  145 
Kyd,  Thomas,  30,  57 

Lamb,  Charles,  190 

Lancashire  Witches,  The,  132 

Laughter,  sources  of,  44-45,  1 53  ff.; 
social  aspect  of,  1 51-152 

Lear,  King,  27,  35,  42,  49,  6^  ; 
pathos,  73  ;  nobility,  75,  97,  98, 
105  ;  Cordelia,  109,  127-128 

Legge,  Thomas,  119 

Lessing,  90 

Lillo,  55,  100 

Locke,  John,  47 

Locrine,  120 

London  Merchant,  The,  55 ;  di- 
dactic aim,  83  5   prose,  90,  130 

Lo've  for  Lo've,  39,  172,  173 

Lonje's  Labour  s  Lost,  177,  184 

Lo've's  Last  Shift,  195 

Lyly,  John,  120 

Macaulay,  147 

Macbeth,  42,  49  ;  ghost  in,  59-60  ; 
sub-plot,  6^,  82,  97,  98,  105, 
108  ;  unity,  III  ;  duration,  112, 
127-128,  144;  comedy  in,  200 

Macchiavelli,  122-124 

Mac  Flecknoe,  148 

Maeterlinck,  32,  36-38,  44,  69 

215 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 


Malicious     delight,     in     tragedy, 

86-87 
Marinetti,  113 
Marlowe,   41,    46 ;    use   of  verse, 

88  ;    types    of   hero,    102  ;     his 

dramas,  122-126 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  109 
Mary  Stuart,  107 
Masefield,  John,  68,  86 
Masques,  91 
Massinger,  57,  139 
Mazzini,  67 
Measure  for   Measure,    146-147, 

200 
Medea,  of  Euripides,  81,  98,  100 
Medea,  of  Seneca,  8 1 
Melodrama,  30,  34-35 
Menander,  13 

Merchant  of  Venice,  The,  141,  145 
Meredith,  George,  46 
Merry  Wi'ues  of  Windsor,  The,  145, 

148,  160,  165,  176-177,  184 
Metastasio,  31 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  A,  zi, 

33-35»  97.   134'   i37>   156.   166, 

177-182 
Milton,  115 
Misanthrope,  he,  96 
Misfortunes  of  Arthur,  The,  118 
Moliere,  21,  45,  96,  135-136 
Moore,  Edward,  21,  90,  149 
Morality  plays,  42,  116 
Morris,  Edward,  196 
Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  97,  141, 

144,  166,  178-182 
Mystery  plays,   15  ;  use  of  verse 

in,  88,  116 

Nan,  The  Tragedy  of,  69  ;  heredity 

in,  70,  84-86 
Norton,  Thomas,  89 

CEdipus  Coloneus,  36,  60,  99 
(Edipus  Tyrannus,  23,  98,  144 
Old  Bate  he  lor,  The,  39 
216 


Oreste,  77-81 

Orestes,  24,  81 

0?phan,  The,  36,  49  ;  use  of  verse 
in,  95-96,  97,  98,  99,  106,  109 

Othello,  29,  42 }  sub-plot,  65 ; 
pathos,  74,  82  ;  use  of  verse  in, 
94,  97,  98,  106  ;  Desdemona, 
108-109  ;  unity,  in;  duration, 
112,  127-128,  143-144,  200 

Otway,  Thomas,  36  j  tragedy  and 
comedy,  97-98 

Pacuvius,  15 

Paolo  and  Francesca,  44 

Passions  de  I'Ame,  Les,  24 

Pathetic  fallacy,  in  tragedy,  63- 
64 ;  in  comedy,  143 

Pathos,  72-74 

Pelleas  et  Milisande,  37,  44  ;  sym- 
bolism in,  69 

Philebus,  23 

Phillips,  Stephen,  44 

Philoctetes,  36,  64 

Phrynichus,  12 

Pikeryng,  John,  119 

Plain  Dealer,  The,  150,  175,  186 

Plato,  23 

Plautus,  15 

Poetics,  The,  11  ;  its  limitations, 
12-13,  51-52 

Preston,  Thomas,  119 

Principe,  II,  122 

Prometheus  Unbound,  91,  102,  115 

Pro'vok'd  Husband,  The,  1 56 

Przybyszewski,  69,  86 

Psychology  and  dramatic  theory, 
21,  143  ff. 

Puttenham,  Richard,  117 

Racine,  21,  24,  43,  90,  104 
Radcliffe,  Mrs,  18 
Ralph  Roister  Doister,  182 
Rambler,  The,  26 
R'duber,  Die,  104 
Recruiting  Officer,  The,  188 


INDEX 


Reinhardt,  68 

Remorse,  74,  103 

Ricardus  Tertius,  1 1 9 

Richardson,  Joseph,  196 

Riders  to  the  Sea,  69 

Rire,  Le,  44 

Road  to  Ruin,  The,  83,  145 

Romantic     drama,     opposed     to 

classic,  21 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  60,  89  ;   hero, 

102,    127,    133  ;    the   comic   in, 

200 
Rosmersholm,  50,  69 
Rowe,  Nicholas,  109 
Rymer,  Thomas,  16,  29,  115 

Sackville,  Thomas,  89 

St  John,  John,  109 

Saintsbury,  Professor,  17 

Samson  Agonistes,  1 1 5 

Sardou,  67 

Satire,  148-150,  174-175 

Savonarola,  n6 

Schiller,  104,  115 

School  for  Greybeards,  The,  135 

School  for  Scandal,   The,   46,   48, 

177 
School  for  Wi'ves,  The,  135 
Schopenhauer,  153 
Scornful  Lady,  The,  46 
Second  Mrs  Tanqueray,  The,  74,  8  5 
Secret,  The,  196 
Secret  Lo've,  27,  145 
Sedley,  Charles,  188 
Sejanus,  24 
Selimus,  120 
Seneca,    15-16,  41,   57,   81,    100  ; 

influence    on    English    drama, 

117-119,  127 
Sentimentalism,   28-29.     ^^^  ^^^° 

Comedy 
Shadwell,  Thomas,  132,  136,  158, 

183-185,  189 
Shakespeare,  16-17;  comedy,  38, 

45;  pathos,  73;  nobility,  76,  82; 


use  of  verse,  88  ;    tragedy  and 

comedy,  97  ;  tragedies,  126-128 
Shelley,  27,  91,  100,  102 
Sheridan,  45,  135 
Shirley,  James,  89 
Short  Vieijo  of  Tragedy,  A,  16 
Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  16 
Sir  Harry  Wildair,  132 
Sir  Martin  Mar-all,  39,  137,  161- 

162,  165 
Smart,  Dr.  J.  S.,  61,  dS,  86,  102 
Sno'w,  69  ;  heredity  in,  70,  86 
Sofonisba,  1 1 8 

Sophocles,  12,  24;  nobility,  81 
Soul  die  r's  Fortune,  The,  98 
Spanish  drama,  21,  90.     See  also 

Calderon 
Spanish  Fryar,The,iT,?,, 14^^,161,166 
Spanish  Tragedy,  The,  30,  58 
Stage,  Greek  and  modern,  11 3-1 15 
Steele,  Richard,  149 
Strife,  68,  92,  106 
Strindberg,  90 
Sub-plot,  in  tragedy,  64-66  ;    in 

comedy,  136-138 
Sully,  J.,  22,  155,  158,  163 
Supernatural,  in  tragedy,  56-64 ; 

in  comedy,  1 31-134 
Supplices,  24 
Surrey,  Earl  of,  89 
Suspicious  Husband,  The,  193 
Swift,  Jonathan,  149,  174 
Symbolism,    in   tragedy,    69-70 ; 

in  comedy,  141 
Symonds,  J.  A.,  90 
Synge,  J.  M.,  69 

Tambwiaine  the  Great,  41,    108, 
122-126 

Tamer  Tam^d,  The,  46 

Taming  of  the  Shreiv,  The,  27,  46, 
162,  173,  176,  177,  184 

Tempest,  The,i24i  Dryden's  altera- 
tion of,  137,  181-182 

Terence,  15,  38,  45,  156,  184 

217 


INTRODUCTION  TO  DRAMATIC  THEORY 

Verse,    in    tragedy,    as    a    tragic 
relief,  85-86,  94-96  ;  origin  of, 
88-90  ;   general   considerations, 
88-96  ;  in  comedy,  142 
Vertue  Betray' d,  109 
Virgin  Martyr,  The,  57 
Fittoria  Corombona,  129 
Volpone,  21,  96,  145-146,  148-149, 

i73>  i74>  185 
Voltaire,  21,  104 


Thackeray,  149 

Thomas,  Brandon,  30 

"Tis  Pity,  200 

Tragedies  of  the  Last  Age  Con- 
sidered, The,  16 

Tragic  irony,  62-63 

Tragi-comedy,  24-26,  198-201. 
See  also  Drame 

Tragic  relief,  75-78,  94-96 

Tragic  spirit,  71-74 

Traitor,  The,  89 

Trip  to  the  Jubilee,  A,  29 

Trissino,  118 

Troades,  41 

Troilus  and  Cressida,  29 

Tropes,  15 

Twain,  Mark,  165 

Tixelfth  Night,  46,  137,  156,  157, 
173-174,  176-177,  180-182 

Types  of  Tragic  Drama,  21,  36 

Unities,  of  action,  iio-m  ;  of 

time,  111-112  ;  of  place,  113 
Universality,  48-52  ;  in  tragedy, 

53  fF. ;  as  a  tragic  relief,  84-85  ; 

in    verse,    93-94  ;    in    comedy, 

131-142 

Vanbrugh,  John,  176,  186-190 
Vaughan,  Professor  C.  E.,  21,  36, 

41,  66 
Venice  Tresemj'd,  20,  50,  97,  106, 

109 


Warton,  J.  and  T.,  18 

Way  of  the  World,  The,  21,  38,  46, 

48,  143,  145,  156,  157,  164-165, 

171,  173,  186,  194 
Webster,  John,  35,  109,  129 
Werner,  18 
Westward  Ho  !  86 
Wild  Duck,  The,  69 
Wild  Gallant,  The,  50 
Wild-Goose  Chase,  The,  46 
Winter's  Tale,  The,  113,  138,  143- 

144,  181-182,  183,  201 
Wit,  47,  157-162,  170-172 
Wit  at  Se^'cral  Weapons,  139 
Woman  Hater,  The,  140,  146 
Woman  Killed  luith  Kindness,  A, 

49'  55 
Wycherley,    William,    150,     175, 

188-190 
Yeats,  W.  B.,  57 


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